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SAN  FRANCISCO 


WOODLAND   WOOING 


ELEANOR    PUTNAM 


HOST  ON 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

1889 


Copyright,  ISS'J 
BY  ARLO  BATKS 


SUntfteraitn  Threes 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE 


TO 


PROFESSOR  GEORGE  LEONARD  VOSE. 


A  WOODLAND  WOOING. 


i. 

WHAT   BETTY   SAYS. 

THERE  were  five  heads  in  all,  and  I  was  tired 
enough  of  looking  down  upon  them.  It  was  all 
Bob's  fault,  and  the  longer  I  stayed  there  the 
angrier  I  grew.  No  living  boy  can  be  so  aggra 
vating,  anyway,  as  Bob  Greenleaf  when  he  tries, 
and  he  generally  tries.  I  had  been  staring 
down  upon  those  heads  for  quite  two  hours, 
and  only  one  who  has  tried  it  can  have  any  idea 
how  stupid  people  can  be  when  one  sees  only 
the  tops  of  their  heads.  There  was  Lucretia's 
yellow  head,  as  sleek  as  a  canary  bird's;  Jo 
sephine's  bleached  puffs  and  coils,  —  "  the  nest  of 
a  crazy  rat,"  Bob  calls  it ;  there  was  Theodore's 


8  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

head  "  running  o'er  with  curls,"  —  how  I  do 
detest  a  curly-headed  man  !  —  and  Theodore's 
friend,  with  no  more  hair  than  a  mouse,  and 
what  little  he  did  have  gray;  and,  last  of  all, 
there  was  Bobby's  rough  brown  tousle.  My 
own  hair  is  just  like  Bob's,  .and  I  hate  my  own 
hair.  I  almost  hated  Bobby  too,  just  then,  for 
putting  me  in  such  a  fix. 

It  all  came  about  in  this  way.  Bob  wanted 
his  gun-case  mended.  Most  boys  mend  their 
own  gun-cases,  but  Bob  docs  n't,  and  his  gun- 
case  always  seems  to  have  a  rip  in  it  if  I 
happen  to  be  planning  a  specially  good  time. 
I  was  just  starting  for  the  horse-chestnut  tree, 
with  "  A  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes "  and  some  early 
sops-of-wines  in  my  apron,  when  out  bounced 
Bob  from  the  wood-shed  and  wanted  me  to 
"  just  take  a  stitch  "  for  him.  Of  course,  I 
told  him  I  could  n't  stop,  and,  of  course,  he 
said  I  was  mean,  and  banged  the  wood-shed 
door.  I  did  n't  mind,  for  I  thought  he  'd  get 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


over  it  right  away;  but  he  played  me  a  trick 
that  I  won't  forgive  him  for  one  while.  To 
sit  there  eating  Aunt  Jane's  best  pound-cake 
and  grinning  while  I  was  up  in  that  miserable 
tree,  and  not  daring  to  move  a  finger  for  fear 
somebody  would  look  up  and  see  me  ! 

I  had  only  been  up  in  my  perch  about  half 
an  hour  when  Josephine  Foster  came  through 
the  gate  in  the  hedge,  with  her  brother  and 
the  New  York  friend  who  arrived  the  night  be 
fore.  Bob  was  in  the  hammock,  and  Lucretia 
was  sewing  on  the  piazza.  I  should  have 
thought  they  might  have  found  other  places 
enough  to  take  the  callers,  but  no,  they  must 
needs  bring  their  chairs  out  under  the  horse- 
chestnut,  as  if  there  were  no  other  tree  in  the 
yard.  Bob  knew  I  was  up  in  the  tree,  and  was 
glad  of  it.  He  thought  it  was  a  joke  :  any  silly 
thing  passes  for  a  joke  with  Bob.  Then,  as  if 
things  were  not  bad  enough  already,  Bob  had 
to  propose  an  out-of-doors  tea. 


IO  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

Now  Bob  Greenleaf  may  deny  it  all  he  likes, 
but  of  course  he  did  that  on  purpose  to  be 
disagreeable.  He  knew  that  they  would  be  a 
full  hour  over  their  tea,  and  he  knew  that  I 
should  not  dare  to  come  down  before  them  all. 
I  shall  always  be  sure  that  Bob  did  it  on 
purpose. 

I  knew  they  would  all  agree,  and  they  did. 
Lucretia  and  Theodore  and  Bob  set  off  for  the 
house  after  the  tea  things,  and  Josephine  began 
to  entertain  her  visitors  by  an  account  of  the 
oddities  and  peculiarities  of  the  Greenleaf  family. 
Josephine  was  always  spiteful  in  a  mild  way. 
She  owned  that  Lucretia  was  pretty,  but  was 
afraid  that  she  was  rather  self-conscious.  She 
told  the  visitor  —  whose  name  is  Mr.  Hamlin  — 
that  Aunt  Jane  was  "  good-hearted,  but  queer;  " 
that  Father  was  a  model  of  an  eccentric  old 
village  doctor;  that  Bob  was  dreadfully  young 
of  his  age,  one  of  the  sort  of  boys  who  ought 
to  be  caged  till  he  was  twenty,  —  I  rather  agreed 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


with  her  there,  for  the  time  ;  and  that  he  had 
a  twin  sister,  Betty,  who  was  as  bad  as  he,  —  one 
of  the  real  old-fashioned  hoydens  who  "  set  one's 
teeth  on  edge,  don't  you  know." 

I  did  not  at  all  agree  with  her  there,  and 
I  call  it  rather  mean  of  Josephine  to  give  a 
stranger  such  a  bad  impression  of  me.  Even 
Aunt  Jane  admits  that  I  have  improved  since 
last  summer,  and  Lucretia  says  that  when  my 
hair  is  n't  rough,  and  I  have  my  pink  lawn  gown 
on,  I  am  really  quite  nice.  Josephine  never  did 
like  me  ;  but  she  was  checked  in  her  description 
of  my  charms  by  the  appearance  of  a  proces 
sion  from  the  house.  First  marched  Bobby, 
with  a  little  table  whose  legs  shut  neatly  under 
it  like  a  dead  beetle's  ;  Lucretia  came  next 
with  a  tray  ;  and  Theodore  followed  with  a  pair 
of  willow  baskets. 

If  there  is  one  thing  I  like  more  than  another, 
it  is  a  picnic  of  any  size  or  kind,  and  Aunt 
Jane  is  famous  through  the  whole  village  for 


12 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


her  cakes  and  dainties.  Every  instant  I  grew 
hungrier,  and  every  instant  I  grew  angrier  with 
Bob,  who  sat  down  below  cheerfully  eating  far 
more  jellied  chicken  than  was  at  all  polite  of 
him,  and  rejoicing  in  unlimited  almond  cake 
and  damson  preserves.  I  abominate  tea  as  a 
general  thing;  but  even  tea  seemed  pleasant 
and  desirable  as  the  fragrance  rose  to  me 
through  the  horse-chestnut  branches. 

How  I  did  long  to  throw  my  book  at  Bob's 
head,  and  startle  the  placid  party  lingering  so 
long  and  keeping  me  cramped  and  aching  in 
that  hateful  crotch ! 

They  finished  their  tea  at  last,  and  Harriet 
Tuell  came  and  marched  away  with  the  dishes, 
but  still  Josephine  showed  no  inclination  to  go. 
The  village  boys  began  to  pass  the  gate  on  the 
way  to  drive  home  the  cows.  Tommy  Hilborn 
patted  by  on  leathery  brown  feet,  and  was 
stopped  at  the  lane  gate  by  Aunt  Jane  with  a 
basket  of  food  for  his  mother. 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


Now  the  cows  began  to  come  home,  cropping 
along  the  roadside  as  they  came.  Then  Father, 
in  his  ramshackle  old  sulky,  creaked  up  the 
lane. 

I  was  fairly  giddy  with  sitting  so  long  in  that 
abominable  tree,  and  I  could  have  shaken  Jo 
sephine  until  her  teeth  chattered  for  sitting 
there  and  talking  inanely  about  a  young  lady 
she  met  at  Newport  who  told  her  that  she 
looked  like  Nilsson.  Nobody  was  paying  the 
least  attention  to  her,  and  I  longed  to  tell  her 
so.  People  never  do  pay  much  attention  when 
Josephine  is  talking. 

The  katydids  were  singing  in  the  branches  all 
about  me.  I  felt  like  a  katydid  myself,  up  there 
among  the  big,  damp  leaves.  I  was  tempted 
to  cry  out  "  Bobby-did,"  in  loud  and  startling 
tones. 

Old  Ben  Walton  crossed  the  rough  common 
and  clambered  toilsomely  up  the  wide  church 
steps.  In  a  moment  the  bell  rang  out  for 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


evening  prayer-meeting,  and  Josephine  at  last 
really  rose  to  go. 

"  Mother  will  want  to  go  to  the  vestry,"  she 
said,  "  so  I  suppose  we  ought  not  to  stay  any 
longer." 

Even  then  they  stopped  to  chatter  at  the 
gate,  but  I  did  not  mind  that.  My  only  thought 
was  to  get  down  from  that  hateful  tree.  Bob 
came  slowly  across  the  grass  to  help  me  down 
and  to  jeer  at  me.  I  threw  my  book  and 
shawl  at  him  and  came  scrabbling  ungrace 
fully  down.  I  was  giddy,  chilly,  hungry,  and 
cross. 

"  I  '11  pay  you  up  for  this,"  said  I,  savagely. 
"  Don't  think  I  '11  forget  it.  I  shall  just  tell 
Father,  and  see  what  he  '11  say  to  your  keeping 
me  up  in  that  tree  two  mortal  hours,  you  hateful 
thing,  you  see  if  I  don't." 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  thought  I  knew  you 
were  up  there,"  said  a  strange  voice  with  an 
injured  tone. 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


"I  —  why,  of  course  I  thought  you  were 
Bobby,"  I  stammered,  with  my  face  ablaze. 

"  I  am  John  Hamlin,"  said  the  voice,  an 
amused  voice  this  time,  "  and  I  came  back  for 
my  walking-stick.  Good  evening,  Miss  Betty." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING^ 


II. 

WHAT   BOB   SAYS. 

OF  course  Betty  had  to  plunge  right  into  the 
middle  of  things ;  she  always  does.  Everybody 
knows  that  the  preface  comes  first  of  all ;  and 
I  was  going  to  write  the  preface,  but  Betty  had 
to  start  right  in  and  write  her  chapter  without 
saying  a  word  to  a  fellow  about  it,  so  now  the 
preface  has  to  come  in  here  where  it  does  n't 
belong  at  all. 

You  see,  we  had  always  planned  to  write  a 
novel,  only  we  could  not  agree  about  a  plot.  I 
wanted  an  Indian  story,  and  had  no  end  of  ex 
citing  hunts  and  fights  to  put  in ;  but  Betty  was 
bound  to  have  a  Moorish  romance  called  the 
"  Secret  of  the  Alhambra,"  with  a  muff  of  a  girl 
named  Zara,  the  Tearful,  and  heaps  of  minstrels 
and  dungeons  and  guitars  and  everything  else 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


silly  and  romantic.  So  we  could  n't  seem  to 
agree  anyhow,  and  at  last  one  morning  we  had 
a  downright  fuss  over  it.  I  was  mowing  the 

o  <~» 

lawn,  and  Betty  was  following  me  about,  trying 
to  make  me  give  in,  and  I  stopped  the  lawn- 
mower  so  often  to  talk  to  her  that  it  wras  ten 
o'clock  before  I  knew  it,  and  I  was  late  at  my 
lessons  with  Dr.  Rice. 

"  There,  Betty  Grecnleaf,"  said  I,  "  now  you  Ve 
gone  and  made  me  late,  and  the  Doctor  '11  be 
cross  as  snaps,  and  Father  '11  blame  me  for  not 
finishing  the  lawn,  when  it  is  all  your  fault. 
You  may  write  your  old  novel  about  nothing 
but  love  from  beginning  to  end,  for  all  I  care. 
I  shall  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it." 

"All  right,  then,  don't,"  said  Betty;  and  I 
flung  into  the  house  for  my  books  and  went  off 
without  another  word. 

I  took  the  short  cut  through  the  Fosters' 
orchard  because  I  was  late,  and  I  found  Mr. 
Hamlin  lying  in  a  hammock  reading  and  smok- 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


ing.  He  really  is  not  a  bad  sort  of  person  at 
all  ;  does  n't  think  he  knows  all  creation,  like 
Ted  Foster,  but  treats  a  fellow  with  some  re 
spect.  I  rather  like  him.  He  put  his  head 
over  the  edge  of  the  hammock  as  I  came  along, 
and  said  that  he  'd  been  fishing  in  a  place  I  told 
him  of. 

"  I  caught  forty-five,"  said  he,  "  but  I  wish 
you'd  go  with  me  to-morrow,  and  we'll  try"  it 
farther  up  the  brook.  I  've  a  couple  of  rods,  if 
you  'd  care  to  try  one  of  the  new  sort." 

Of  course,  you  know,  I  was  crazy  to  get  hold 
of  one  of  those  rods  :  they  are  regular  stunners  ; 
but  of  course  I  was  n't  going  to  let  him  see  it, 
so  I  only  said  I  would  n't  mind  going  if  I  waked 
up  in  time.  Then  he  asked  me  if  my  sister  was 
at  home.  I  thought,  of  course,  he  meant  Lu- 
cretia,  and  I  told  him  she  had  gone  over  to 
Jonesport  shopping  with  Aunt  Jane. 

"  I  meant  the  other,"  said  he,  —  "  Miss  Eliza 
beth." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  IC; 


"  Oh,"  said  I,  rather  crossly,  "  she  's  some 
where  about  the  yard ;  and  see  here,  her  name 
is  Betty.  Nobody  '11  know  who  you  're  talking 
about  if  you  say  'Miss  Elizabeth.'" 

Then  I  remembered  how  late  I  was,  and  off 
I  went.  Of  course,  anybody  can  see  that  it 
was  n't  my  fault,  but  when  I  got  home  Betty 
had  to  pounce  on  me  like  a  thousand  of  brick. 
She  had  finished  mowing  the  lawn  herself,  and 
I  went  to  put  the  mower  away  in  the  barn, 
thinking  that  she  was  right  good-natured  to  do 

*_>  o  o 

it,  when  down  she  came  from  the  hay-loft  and 
took  my  very  breath  away,  pitching  into  me 
about  something  that  I  never  did  at  all.  Betty 
always  did  have  that  way  with  her. 

"Now,  Bob  Greenleaf,"  said  she,  "you've 
been  and  done  it  again,  and  you  know  you  did 
it  on  purpose." 

"Did  what?"  asked  I,  for  I  honestly  had  n't 
the  remotest  idea  what  she  meant. 

"  You  know  what,"  said  she.     "  Don't  pretend 


2O 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


to  be  so  innocent,  Bob  Greenleaf.  I  '11  pay  you 
up,  you  see  if  I  don't.  First  was  that  horrid 
old  tree,  and  now  you  go  and  send  him  to  find 
me  mowing  the  lawn  with  Aunt  Jane's  old  green 
barege  sun-bonnet  on  !  " 

Of  course  I  could  n't  help  laughing,  for  Betty 
does  look  like  such  an  awful  guy  in  Aunt  Jane's 
old  green  bonnet;  but  after  all,  I  didn't  know 
she  was  mowing  the  lawn,  and  I  'm  sure  I  was  n't 
to  blame  for  the  sun-bonnet. 

"  You  know  how  I  hate  to  be  laughed  at," 
said  Betty,  almost  crying,  "  and  he  was  laughing 
at  me  all  the  time ;  I  could  see  it,  though  he 
was  so  dreadfully  polite.  '  That  is  rather  hard 
work  for  you,  Miss  Betty;  won't  you  have  an 
assistant?'  Ugh!  I  hate  him!  " 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  she  began  to  laugh,  and 
I  joined  in,  and  we  both  laughed,  and  then  we 
both  felt  better  natured.  I  told  Betty  that  she 
was  a  trump  to  finish  the  lawn  for  me,  and  that 
I  'd  give  in  about  the  story. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


21 


"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  Ve  thought  of  a  better 
plan  than  that.  We  will  start  out  on  something 
new.  You  see,  Bobby,  you  '11  go  off  to  college 
in  the  fall,  and  this  is  our  last  summer  of  being 
together  quite  in  the  old  way;  now  let  us  write 
a  sort  of  journal,  —  take  turns  writing  chapters, 
and  tell  everything  that  happens  just  as  it  comes 
along.  Of  course  it  won't  sound  romantic,  but 
it  will  be  good  fun."  ; 

So  that  is  how  we  settled  it.  Betty's  will  be 
better  than  mine,  because  she  always  had  more 
of  a  knack  at  writing  than  I  had. 

This  is  the  way  we  came  to  write  the  book, 
but  it  is  Betty's  fault  that  the  preface  comes  in 
here,  instead  of  where  it  belongs. 


22  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


III. 

WHAT   BETTY  SAYS. 

IT  was  raining  in  torrents  and  by  bucketfuls, 
in  great  gray  sheets,  and  with  sweeping  gusts. 
The  orchard  was  drenched,  the  gutters  were 
overflowing,  and  all  the  spouts  gushed  like 
fountains.  The  apple-trees  writhed  and  strug 
gled  in  the  wind,  and  if  one  closed  the  eyes 
it  was  far  easier  to  make  the  time  seem  like 
September  than  the  August  it  was. 

All  day  long  it  had  been  pouring  in  torrents, 
and  all  day  long  I  had  been  sewing  with  Aunt 
Jane.  By  two  o'clock  I  could  endure  the  mo 
notony  no  longer;  I  felt  that  it  was  simply 
impossible  to  look  for  five  minutes  more  at 
Aunt  Jane's  trim,  placid  figure  and  the  seem 
ingly  endless  yards  of  cambric  she  was  hem 
ming  ;  to  hear  for  another  second  the  "  crick ! 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


crick !  "  of  her  rocking-chair  as  she  swung  mo 
notonously  to  and  fro.  I  was  inwardly  con 
vinced  that  I  should  go  quite  mad  if  I  stayed 
to  hear  her  say  once  more,  as  she  had  said  every 
ten  minutes  since  breakfast,  "  Well,  I  declare, 
it  doesn't  seem  to  hold  up  much,  does  it? 
If  it  was  September  I  should  think  this  was 
the  Line  storm."  Once  she  had  varied  this  to 
ask  Lucretia,  "  You  don't  think  this  could  be 
the  Line  storm,  do  you,  Lucretia,  dear,  come 
by  mistake  in  August  instead  of  September?" 
To  which  Lucretia  replied  very  placidly  and 
sweetly,  "  Oh,  no,  Aunt  Jane." 

Lucretia  was  \vorking  a  bunch  of  marvellous 
rushes  upon  a  square  of  gray  linen.  She  was 
the  very  picture  of  unruffled  serenity.  Lucretia 
is  not  one  of  those  easy  and  untidy  mortals 
who  take  advantage  of  a  rainy  day  to  indulge 
in  old  gowns,  horrible  slippers,  and  general 
untidiness.  Were  the  sun  shining  in  his  bright 
est  splendor,  Lucretia's  attire  could  be  no 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


neater,  her  pretty  feet  no  daintier,  her  hair  no 
more  satiny  in  its  smoothness. 

But  I  was  this  afternoon  hardly  less  tired  of 
Lucretia  than  of  Aunt  Jane.  I  was  weary  of 
her  pink-and-white  profile  relieved  against  the 
rain-splashed  window-pane ;  of  the  swinging 
vase  of  coral  in  her  ear;  of  her  slender  right 
hand  with  its  gold  thimble  and  turquoise-and- 
pearl  ring.  I  was  tired  of  the  hateful  day,  and 
I  had  kept  quiet  as  long  as  my  nature  could 
be  made  to  submit  to  it.  I  jumped  up  sud 
denly,  with  a  start  that  nearly  frightened  Aunt 
Jane  out  of  her  chair,  and  left  the  room  in  my 
usual  undignified  manner. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  presented  myself  at  the 
door  of  the  Snuggery,  as  we  always  have  called 
the  room  which  serves  Father  as  an  office,  and 
which  has  been  the  general  haunt  of  us  all  in 
childish  days.  I  had  a  basket  of  wood  and 
my  apron  full  of  apples,  and  these  I  expected 
to  commend  me  to  the  good  graces  of  Bobby, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


o 


whom  I  found  ensconced  in  one  of  the  wide 
window-seats,  with  his  feet  on  a  chair,  studying 
his  Latin. 

"  Look,  Bob,"  I  said  joyfully,  "  I  Ve  been 
out  in  the  orchard  to  the  sops-of-wine  trees. 
I  knew  I  should  find  a  lot  of  apples  shaken 
down  in  this  wind,  and  the  grass  was  full  of 
them ;  just  see  what  beauties  !  " 

"Didn't  you  get  wet  through?  "  asked  Bob, 
helping  himself  from  my  offered  apron. 

"  Just  drenched  ;  but  don't  say  anything 
about  it  before  Aunt  Jane,  or  she  '11  want  to 
dose  me.  Harriet  has  scolded  me,  and  I  Ve 
changed  my  things ;  so  that  is  all  over  now. 
I  'm  going  to  make  a  regular  Christmas  fire." 

"A  very  jolly  idea,"  answered  Bob,  "  only  let 
me  make  it.  Your  fires  always  fizzle,  or  else 
they  act  as  if  they  were  possessed,  and  snap 
over  all  creation." 

"  Sometimes  they  behave,"  I  am  compelled 
by  the  spirit  of  self-defence  to  return,  as  I  scat 


A   WOODLAND    WOOING. 


myself  on  the  rug  and  hand  him  the  necessary 
kindlings,  the  sticks  of  yellow  birch,  and  the 
great  unctuous  pine-cones. 

I  cannot  dispute  his  statement  with  much 
vehemence  ;  for  it  is  quite  true  that  though 
my  fires  do  generally  manage  to  burn,  they 
have  a  frantic,  foolish  habit  of  hissing  and 
exploding,  and  sending  unexpected  showers  of 
sparks  all  about.  But  then  neither  Lucretia 
nor  Aunt  Jane  can  induce  a  fire  to  blaze 
decently,  no  matter  what  wealth  of  kindling 
they  expend  upon  it.  Father  and  Bob  build 
great,  hot-hearted  fires  that  are  superb  to  watch 
and  to  hear  roar  up  the  wide  chimney. 

"  There,"  remarked  Bobby,  with  a  just  ap 
preciation  of  his  own  work,  "  that  is  something 
like  a  fire,  Betty,  and  don't  you  think  it  is  n't." 

It  was  indeed  a  most  glorious  fire,  and  blazed 
and  roared  right  royally.  Without  the  rain 
still  poured  in  gray,  blinding  sheets,  but  the 
dear  old  Snuggery  was  so  pleasant  that  I  no 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


27 


longer  minded  the  rain.  Bob  and  the  fire 
filled  every  dissatisfied  longing  of  my  heart. 
I  sat  looking  into  the  glowing  core  of  the 
great  hearth-fire,  and  fell  into  a  happy  dream, 
—  mooning,  as  Bob  is  accustomed  to  say. 

Bob  did  not  choose,  however,  to  leave  me 
long  to  my  sweet  content.  While  he  had 
piled  the  fire,  I  had  suspended  six  apples  from 
nails  long  ago  driven  for  this  purpose  on  the 
under  side  of  the  mantelpiece ;  and  the  deli 
cious  odor  they  gave  out  as  they  slowly  twirled 
around,  growing  plump  and  breaking  out  here 
and  there  with  little  glistening  bubbles,  was 
suggesting  to  me  all  sorts  of  tempting  dishes 
which  were  about  to  be  served  to  me  in  the 
character  of  Queen  Elizabeth  visiting  Kenil- 
worth,  when  Bob  broke  in  upon  the  fancy  with 
a  most  ill-timed  question. 

"  I  say,"  he  demanded,  "  you  have  n't  fin 
ished  that  book  of  Virgil,  have  you  ? " 

"  No,  Bobby." 


28  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

"  But  you  promised  Father  — 

"  It  is  vacation  now.     Don't  bother,  Bobby." 

"  But  you  were  to  begin  in  the  Fall  all 
square,  and  you  don't  want  it  hanging  over 
you  while  we  are  camping  out.  You  're  fifty 
lines  or  so  —  " 

"  From  vox  inhcssit  in  faucibus"  I  finished 
glibly. 

"  Oh,  that 's  no  landmark,"  returned  Bob ; 
"  his  everlasting  old  voice  was  forever  inhcesit- 
ing  in  faucibus.  Anyway,  you  only  lacked 
about  fifty  lines  of  finishing.  Why  don't  you 
get  your  book  and  finish  while  I  'm  plugging? 
Then  afterward  we  '11  play  cribbage." 

"  All  right,"  I  said.  "  This  only  means  that 
you  can't  bear  to  see  me  comfortable  while 
you  have  to  study;  but  I  don't  mind." 

So  I  abandoned  the  banquets  of  Kenilworth, 
brought  my  battered  Cooper  from  the  book 
case,  establishing  myself  on  the  rug  with  the 
lexicon  between  Bobby  and  me;  and  for  half 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


an  hour  the  silence  was  seldom  broken  save 
by  the  dash  of  the  rain  on  the  windows,  the 
pleasant  snap  of  the  fire,  and  the  persuasive 
gurgle  of  the  apples  as  they  twirled  and  roasted 
on  their  strings. 

"  Just  find  the  rules  for  scansion  in  the  gram 
mar,  won't  you,  Betty?"  Bob  said  at  length. 
"  This  line  is  all  scanned  out  there  as  an  ex 
ample,  and  I  want  you  to  hold  the  book,  and 
hear  me  prove  the  scansion,  so  as  to  see  if  I 
guess  right." 

The  place  being  found,  Bob  contracted  his 
brows  for  a  mighty  effort,  —  a  preliminary  the 
necessity  of  which  was  but  too  apparent  to  me, 
who  never  could  learn  how  to  scan,  and  could 
not  even  see  how  anybody  else  could. 

"  Now  there  's  a,  long  by  authority,"  began 
Bob.  "  O  short  before  two  vowels." 

"  No,  before  a  diphthong." 

"Well,  o  short  before  a  diphthong;  e  long 
by  position." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  No,  by  authority." 

"  E  long  by  authority ;  a  short  by  authority." 
"  No,  Bob,  by  position." 
11 A  short  by  position;  CB  elided  for  euphony." 
"  Why,  no,  Bob  ;  it  is  n't  elided  here." 
"  Then  I  'd  like  to  know  how  in  thunder  you 
scan  it.     I  'm  sure  I   can't,  it  hitches  so.     Oh, 
wait;   it  isn't  elided.     I  see.     O  is  long  before 
a  final  syllable." 

"  It  is  short  here,  Bobby,  by  authority." 
"  There  now,  by  thunder !  "  Bob  burst  out 
explosively,  "  I  'd  like  to  know  if  there  's  any 
rhyme  or  reason  in  scansion,  any  way;  and 
what's  the  good  of  it.  Now  I  gave  a  good 
square  guess  at  every  vowel  in  that  verse,  and 
not  one  man  Jack  of  'em  all  was  right.  I  say 
it's  all  blamed  foolishness." 

"  It  is  no  worse  than  translation,"  I  re 
turned.  "Just  listen  to  this  stuff.  I've  got 
the  rest  of  it,  but  I  can't  make  head  or  tail 
out  of  this." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"Well,  what  is  it?"  demanded  Bob,  with 
the  air  of  one  to  whom  Fate  has  already  done 
its  worst. 

" '  Him  likewise  perchance  furious  alike  im 
pelling,  and  the  spoils  of  the  Egean  deity  what 
soever  by  means  of  madness  notwithstanding 
to  be  about  to  be  sacrificed.'  There,  that  is  the 
very  best  I  can  make  out  of  it." 

"  Well,"  returns  Bob,  with  brotherly  candor, 
"you  are  a  muff.  That's  plain  enough.  Don't 
you  see,  '  he  also  declared  himself  about  to  be 
sacrificed,  an  offering  to  the  insatiate  Egean 
deity;  not  caring  to  live  moreover  impelled  by 
furious  madness,  but  ready  alike  to  finish  and  be 
forgotten.'  That  is  as  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  when  you  have  been  all  over 
it,"  was  my  rather  ungrateful  answer. 

"  Shy  your  Virgil  over  here,"  Bobby  returns, 
unmoved ;  "  and  I  '11  put  up  the  books  while 
you  get  the  cribbage-board." 

And  for  the  thousandth  time  we  settled  our 
selves  on  the  rug,  with  the  cribbage-board  on 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


the  floor  and  a  little  foot-stool  between  us.  I 
wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  play 
cribbage  without  feeling  myself  back  in  the 
Snuggery,  even  though  I  should  really  be  at 
the  ends  of  the  earth ;  and  whether,  too,  I  shall 
ever  be  able  to  shake  off  the  feeling  that  I  am 
going  to  be  beaten,  with  the  desperate  resolve 
not  to  be,  which  always  comes  over  me  when 
Bob  begins  to  deal  the  cards.  Three  times  his 
red  pegs  had  covered  the  course,  while  my 
white  ones  had  not  once  got  in  sight  even  of 
victory.  He  was  growing  most  aggressively 
cheerful,  and  I  was  becoming  correspondingly 
sober,  with  a  tendency  to  be  red  in  the  face 
and  short  in  my  tones,  when  a  step  was  heard 
from  the  hall. 

"  There 's  Lucretia,"  I  had  just  time  to  say 
fretfully,  when  her  face  appeared  around  the 
corner  of  the  door. 

"Theodore  has  come,"  she  announced;  "and 
Mr.  Hamlin  is  with  him." 

"  Oh,  bother !  "  was  Bob's  inhospitable  com- 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


33 


mcnt;    "why  could  n't  they  stay  at  home  such 
a  day  as  this?" 

"  Josephine  is  n't  very  smart,"  I  added,  re 
lieving  my  vexation  at  being  beaten  on  the 
first  thing  that  presented  itself,  "  if  she  can't 
entertain  her  own  company.  He  seems  to  be 
forever  coming  over  here." 

"Josephine  has  a  bad  headache.  Won't  you 
come  in,  Betty?  I  wish  you  would;  it  looks 
so  for  you  always  to  keep  away." 

"  How  does  it  look  ?  "  I  began ;  "  I  am  — 
Bob  Greenleaf,  it  is  not  your  crib  !  You  call 
it  your  crib  all  the  time !  " 

Lucretia  sighed  and  withdrew,  while  Bob, 
who  could  always  prove  that  any  deal  wfas  his, 
proceeded  to  give  me  the  worst  hand  that  one 
could  imagine.  And  to  complete  my  vexation, 
a  knave  was  turned  on  the  cut. 

"Two  for  his  heels,"  called  Bob,  cheerfully; 
"  I  shall  have  to  take  that  queen  out  of  the 
crib.  I  put  it  there  by  mistake." 


34 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Bob,"  I  cried  hotly,  "  if  you  do  I  will  not 
play  one  minute  longer." 

And  at  this  interesting  moment  the  door 
opened,  and  Lucretia,  followed  by  Theodore 
and  Mr.  Hamlin,  came  walking  into  the  Snug 
gery  quite  as  if  it  was  the  place  where  company 
was  habitually  received. 

"  It  is  so  damp  in  the  parlor,"  she  explained, 
"  and  the  open  fire  here  is  so  cheerful." 

"Why,  this  is  no  end  jolly,"  chimed  in  Ted. 
"Quite  like  old  times,  isn't  it,  Lucretia?" 

Bob  and  I  exchanged  inhospitable  glances, 
and  without  a  word  removed  our  places  from 
the  rug  to  the  window-seat,  while  Lucretia 
busied  herself  in  finding  seats  for  her  guests. 
The  mention  of  old  times  seemed  to  fire  Ted, 
and  he  rattled  away  with  Lucretia;  so  that 
Mr.  Hamlin,  being  largely  left  out  of  the  con 
versation,  had  no  choice  but  to  turn  to  Bobby 
and  me  for  entertainment.  He  came  and 
looked  over  my  shoulder,  and  when  I  said 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


35 


rudely  enough,  "I  wish  you  wouldn't;  you 
make  me  nervous !  "  he  only  answered,  as 
coolly  as  possible,  "  You  want  to  discard  your 
ten-spot."  I  did  n't  want  to  discard  my  ten- 
spot,  but  somehow  or  other  I  meekly  did  it; 
and  the  result  was  that  I  beat  Bob  at  last. 
After  that  I  had  to  be  more  civil  to  him,  and 
I  must  say  that  he  was  entertaining.  He  told 
a  lot  of  stories,  and  he  told  them  well ;  so  that 
the  first  thing  I  knew,  I  was  actually  offering 
him  a  share  in  our  baked  apples,  which  by  this 
time  filled  the  Snuggery  with  a  most  appetizing 
fragrance.  Ted  and  Lucretia  ate  theirs  by  the 
fire,  while  Bob  and  Mr.  Hamlin  and  I  had  a 
sort  of  tea-party  in  the  wide  window-seat;  and 
on  the  whole  it  was  well  that  they  came  over 
in  the  rain,  for  it  was  rather  jolly,  if  Bob  and 
I  were  interrupted,  and  if  Lucretia  did  say 
afterward  that  she  was  ashamed  of  me  when 
she  came  in. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


IV. 


WHAT  BOB   SAYS. 

IT  is  all  very  well  for  Betty  to  say  it  was 
jolly  to  have  Mr.  Hamlin  come,  for  she 
would  n't  have  beaten  me  till  this  time  if  he 
had  n't  stood  behind  her  and  told  her  how 
to  play.  She  never  says  a  word  about  the 
sequence  he  put  her  up  to.  But  I  'm  sure  I 
don't  care;  I  can  beat  her  any  time.  Just 
now  I  can't  stop  to  write,  though,  for  Fred 
and  I  are  going  up  to  the  Long  Brook,  and 
he  '11  be  here  in  just  about  one  half  a 
jiffy. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


37 


V. 


WHAT    HETTY    SAYS. 

I  THRUST  my  head  in  at  the  door,  and  saw 
Lucrctia  twisting  up  the  soft  yellow  plaits  of  her 
hair  before  the  cottage  mirror  on  her  dressing- 
table. 

"Theodore  is  coming  up  the  walk,"  I  said, 
"and  Mr.  Hamlin.  Isn't  it  good  luck  that 
Josephine  has  a  headache  and  can't  go?" 

"  Why,  Betty  Grccnlcaf !  "  Lucrctia  exclaimed 
reproachfully. 

"  Well,"  I  returned,  "  I  don't  want  her  to  be 
ill,  of  course ;  but  you  know  yourself,  Lucretia, 
that  five  is  a  horrid  number,  and  I  should  have 
had  to  tag  after,  myself." 

"Why  don't  you  dress?"  Lucrctia  asked, 
lightly  shaking  out  her  blue  lawn  gown. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  I  can't  tell  what  to  wear,"  I  answered  dis 
mally.  "  I  had  my  pink  muslin  on  yesterday, 
you  know,  when  Bobby  and  I  were  caught  in 
the  thunder  shower.  Things  always  happen 
somehow  to  my  gowns.  I  don't  see  why  they 
never  do  to  yours,  Lucrctia." 

"  I  am  careful,  I  suppose,"  returned  Lucrctia, 
absently. 

She  was  sorry  my  gown  was  ruined,  but  she 
was  very  busy  deciding  whether  to  wear  tiny 
gold  bells  or  pink  coral  roses  in  her  ears. 

"I  suppose,"  I  ventured,  "that  you  couldn't 
leave  me  at  home,  Lucretia?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  my  sister.  "  Go  out 
to  luncheon  alone  with  two  gentlemen !  Who 
ever  heard  of  such  a  thing?"  She  gave  a  final 
flutter  before  the  glass  and  turned.  "  It  is  a 
pity  your  gray  linen  is  so  plain,"  she  said ;  "  but 
wear  your  cherry  ribbons,  and  you  won't  look 
very  ugly." 

With  this  consoling  remark  Lucrctia  tripped 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


39 


away,  leaving  me  to  rush  through  my  toilet 
and  hasten  downstairs  with  an  unbecomingly 
flushed  face  and  the  consciousness  of  being 
badly  dressed.  As  I  reached  the  hall,  Aunt 
Jane  beckoned  me  into  the  dining-room.  On 
the  table  were  a  basket  of  cakes  and  a  tray  of 
tall  glasses  filled  with  pink  shrub. 

"  It  was  the  rule  your  Aunt  Caroline  sent 
from  Germany,"  began  Aunt  Jane  in  her  irrele 
vant  way.  "  You  know  these  are  the  little 
almond  biscuit.  I  want  you  to  carry  them  in, 
my  face  is  so  red  from  the  oven." 

"They  will  laugh,"  I  said  heartlessly;  "I 
am  sure  they  wrili  laugh,  Aunt  Jane.  You 
know  we  are  going  to  have  luncheon  at  Mrs. 
Sparhawk's." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  very  nice  of  her,"  re 
joined  Aunt  Jane,  plaintively,  "  to  try  to  change 
everything  in  Arrowsic.  Why  should  she  dine 
at  seven  o'clock  instead  of  one?  —  Will  you 
carry  in  the  tray,  Elizabeth,  or  must  I?" 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Upon  this,  of  course,  I  bore  the  cakes  and 
shrub  into  the  parlor.  Ted  grinned  broadly. 
Lucretia  looked  apologetic,  and  Mr.  Hamlin 
positively  aghast.  He  ate  his  almond  cake,  but 
eyed  his  shrub  dubiously. 

"  If  you  detest  it,"  I  said  softly,  with  a  glance 
toward  Theodore  and  Lucretia  at  the  piano,  — 
"  if  you  detest  it  as  Father  docs,  and  you  dare 
not  hurt  Aunt  Jane's  feelings  by  leaving  it,  I 
will  pour  it  out  of  the  window  into  the  flower 
ing  currant  bush." 

He  passed  me  his  glass  readily. 

"I  abhor  it,"  he  said;  and  as  I  emptied  the 
goblet  from  the  window,  he  bestowed  on  me  a 
very  friendly  smile. 

The  delicacies  being  now  disposed  of,  we  left 
the  house;  Lucretia  and  Theodore  walking  be 
fore,  Mr.  Hamlin  following  perforce  with  me. 

"Who  are  the  Sparhawks,  anyhow?"  asked 
Mr.  Hamlin,  rather  crossly,  striking  with  his 
walking-stick  at  the  red  thistles  which  were 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


shiftlessly  allowed  to  grow  along  the  way. 
"  Everywhere  I  go  I  hear  them  quoted,  men 
tioned,  and  talked  about.  I  saw  Mrs.  Sparhawk 
once,  but  I  Ve  never  seen  her  husband." 

"  Colonel  Sparhawk,"  I  explained,  "  is  an 
army  officer  retired  on  half-pay.  I  think  he 
has  malaria.  He  wears  a  single  eyeglass,  and 
snaps  his  cane  and  tells  long  stories  about  the 
Peninsula.  He  is  always  in  a  great  hurry, 
though  he  never  does  anything  but  begin  pic 
tures  which  he  never  finishes." 

"  And  Mrs.  Sparhawk?" 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Sparhawk  is  cither  an  American 
who  pretends  to  be  English,  or  an  English 
woman  who  pretends  to  be  American.  I  can't 
tell  you  about  her.  She  is  not  like  anybody 
else." 

"  Is  it  an  archery  meeting?  " 

"  Yes,  only  the  whole  Club  does  n't  lunch 
there.  Mrs.  Sparhawk  was  telling  Lucretia 
about  her  colored  cook's  frozen  strawberries, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  so  she  invited  us  down  to  taste  some,  and 
asked  Ted  to  bring  you." 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  come,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin, 
ungratefully;  "I  hate  visiting." 

"  The  children  are  funny,"  I  suggested  ;  "  you 
may  like  them." 

Lucretia  turned  a  reproachful  face  upon  me, 
and  at  the  same  moment  I  heard  a  joyous 
puffing  at  my  side. 

"  Now,  Betty  Greenleaf,"  said  Lucretia,  ele 
gantly,  "  you  've  gone  and  brought  that 
dog." 

"  I  did  n't  bring  him,"  I  said,  doing  my  best 
to  look  severely  at  the  waggish  brown  eyes 
which  were  raised  to  mine.  "  He  followed  us. 
He  knows  he  is  doing  wrong." 

"Woof!"  said  Ned,  experimentally,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  my  face,  and  the  suspicion  of  a 
wag  thrilling  his  tail. 

"  Go  home !  "  said  Lucretia,  in  her  most 
judicial  manner. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


43 


"  Go  home,  sir !  "  added  Theodore,  sharply. 
Ted  loves  neither  my  dog  nor  me. 

I  added  my  commands  to  the  others,  but,  to 
confess  a  truth,  Ned's  strong  point  is  not  obedi 
ence.  He  eyed  me  reproachfully  for  a  moment, 
then  with  a  sudden  leap  pretended  to  regard 
the  whole  affair  as  an  enormous  joke.  He 
"  charged  "  an  instant,  made  a  sudden  dash  for 
a  wandering  bit  of  paper,  shook  it  violently,  then 
turned  his  eyes  on  me,  as  if  he  would  like  to 
know  why  1  did  not  laugh.  As  a  matter  of 
course,  I  did  laugh,  whereupon  Ned  considered 
his  point  gained,  and,  quite  mad  with  delight, 
tumbled  over  himself  repeatedly  as  he  rushed 
ahead  of  us  down  the  street. 

The  Sparhawks  live  in  a  very  ornate  cottage 
set  far  back  on  an  untidy  lawn.  The  hedge  is 
ragged,  and  the  stone-paved  walk  bordered  with 
a  wild  snarl  of  syringa  bushes  and  Tartarean 
honeysuckle.  There  were  once  elaborate  flower 
beds,  shaped  like  crescents  and  diamonds ;  but 


44  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


neglect  has  conquered  the  original  intention, 
and  box,  striped  grass,  and  a  shiftless  vine 
which  Harriet  calls  "  creeping  Jinny,"  run  riot 
everywhere. 

Doors  and  windows  were  all  open,  and  gay 
Italian  awnings  fluttered  in  the  slight  breeze. 
Upstairs  we  heard  a  shrill  voice  singing,  "  Pull 
for  the  Shore."  Downstairs  a  piano  was  being 
banged  upon  by  some  child.  From  round  the 
corner  came  a  high  confusion  of  cackling  fowl, 
shouting  of  children,  and  the  regular  "  clucking  " 
boat  of  a  spoon  in  a  cooking  bowl.  On  the  ter 
race,  from  which  the  grass  is  much  worn,  as  if 
by  the  frequent  sliding  down  of  children,  a 
gorgeous  peacock  stood  with  his  tail  spread. 
The  front  door,  though  open,  was  inhospitably 
barricaded  by  chairs  turned  down  upon  their 
sides.  A  scarlet  and  gray  parrot  sat  meditating 
upon  the  balustrade  post,  and  a  small  black  boy 
lay  asleep  on  the  floor,  with  his  funny  round 
head  in  the  full  cjlare  of  the  sunshine. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


45 


"  There  is  no  bell-knob,"  said  Theodore, 
looking  helplessly  about. 

"  No,"  replied  Lucretia,  "  it  was  broken  last 
winter;  but  there  ought  to  be  a  dinner-bell 
about  here  somewhere.  They  kept  one  standing 
on  the  piazza  for  visitors  to  use." 

At  the  sound  of  our  voices  a  small  black  girl, 
with  her  wool  standing  up  in  a  hundred  little 
horns,  peeped  from  the  parlor  door  and  fled 
wildly  up  the  front  stairs.  Meantime,  after 
some  hunting,  Ted  discovered  the  bell  hidden 
in  the  long  grass  and  gave  it  a  vigorous  ring. 
It  produced  no  effect,  however,  for  its  sound 
was  drowned  entirely,  as  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  came  a  procession  consisting  of  Rod 
ney  Sparhawk,  six  years  old  ;  Bevis,  aged  four; 
a  Newfoundland  dog,  and  a  minute  gray  kitten. 
Rodney  wore  a  trailing  coat  of  his  father's,  and 
a  dangling  sword  scabbard.  lie  had  hung  a 
tin  steamer  about  his  neck,  upon  which  he 
played  a  deafening  tattoo  with  two  iron  spoons, 


46 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  he  walked  backward,  shouting :  "  Left  ! 
Left !  I  left  a  good  home  when  I  left."  His 
regiment  consisted  only  of  Bevis,  in  exceedingly 
brief  white  petticoats,  long  pink  hose,  a  pair  of 
large  brogans,  and  an  old  chapeau  above  his 
pretty  baby  face  and  yellow  curls.  Bevis  ap 
peared  to  be  trumpeter,  beside  constituting  the 
band,  and  alternately  blew  upon  a  small  tin 
horn  and  shouted :  "  Fourthcr  July  !  Fourther 
July !  "  with  a  volume  of  voice  amazing  from 
so  small  a  person. 

At  sight  of  our  party  the  children  paused, 
and  a  moment  of  blissful  silence  ensued.  Then 
Bevis  spoke,  — 

"  Tant  dit  in.  Our  tars  are  in  the  door. 
Must  n't  touch.  Doin'  to  pay  wiz  'em  bime 
by." 

With  this  warning  the  procession  again  took 
up  its  line  of  march,  joyfully  augmented  by 
Ned,  uninvited  but  jovial,  and  with  shouts  of 
"Left!  Left!"  and  "Fourthcr  July!"  xvound 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


47 


across  the  lawn,  through  a  gap  in  the  hedge, 
and  disappeared  down  the  street. 

In  the  hush  which  followed  their  departure, 
an  unctuous  voice  came  from  the  direction  of 
the  beating  spoon,  — 

"  Si,  '  got  you  rule  out'n  some  cook  book,'  si, 
'I'll  be  boun','  si.  'Jus'  wish  ye  could  oncct 
eat  a  rale  chick'n  patty.  Some  o'  my  puff  paste 
and  chick'n  done  up  in  cream,'  si ;  'I  believe 
ye  'd  be  a  better  Chris'n  ef  ye  could  jus'  taste 
one  o'  my  chick'n  patties,'  si.  Thar,  'clar  for  't, 
Mis'  Sparrock,  I  's  jus'  that  free  with  her,  I 
was  so  !  " 

Laughter  followed,  —  a  lady-like  ripple  and 
an  oily,  rich  chuckle,  —  in  the  midst  of  which 
Theodore  again  rang  the  dinner-bell. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  the  children,"  a  clear  voice 
said,  "  but  you  might  just  look,  Aunt  Judy." 

At  this  a  shining  black  face,  under  a  gay 
plaid  turban,  looked  from  a  door  at  the  end  of 
the  hall. 


48 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  'Clar  for  't !  "  exclaimed  the  owner,  coming 
briskly  forward,  with  a  jovial  smile  of  welcome 
which  displayed  her  beautiful  white  teeth,  "  cf 
't  aint  Miss  Grcenleaf !  Tought  't  was  likely 
dem  no-'count  chil'n.  Dere  allus  ringin'  de 
bal." 

She  cleared  away  the  chairs,  and  touched  the 
sleeping  black  boy  on  the  rug  with  her  foot. 

"  You,  Sam,"  she  said  easily,  "  come  off  dat 
flo',  and  go  'long  'bout  you  business.  Don'  yer 
stay  yere  no  mo'  whar  yer  don'  b'long  at. 
D'yer  min'? " 

The  boy,  at  her  thrust,  curled  up  like  a  touch- 
me-not,  and  rolled  softly  away  under  the  stairs, 
while  the  old  woman  showed  us  into  the  parlor 
and  disappeared. 

It  was  a  long  room,  this  parlor;  indeed,  there 
were  two  rooms,  divided  by  a  curtain  of  faded 
red  velvet,  and  the  polished,  bare  floors  were 
strewn  with  rugs  of  dull,  soft  tints.  This  was  a 
scandal  to  most  of  the  good  Arrowsic  matrons, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


49 


who  believed  it  better  to  dispense  with  a  parlor 
entirely,  unless  one  was  able  to  carpet  it.  The 
four  windows  were  wide  open,  and  the  lace 
draperies  hung  outside  as  if  somebody  had  in 
tended  to  prepare  the  room  for  sweeping,  and 
abandoned  the  idea.  On  the  centre-table  was 
a  shallow  bowl  full  of  exquisite  violets,  a  riding 
whip,  a  pair  of  soiled  white  gauntlets,  an  open 
copy  of  "  Sintram  "  in  the  original,  a  sponge, 
and  a  bonbonniere  in  the  form  of  a  silver  slipper. 
There  were  fine  etchings  on  the  sage-tinted  walls ; 
and  everywhere,  on  chairs,  tables,  ottomans,  and 
all  about  the  floor,  leaning  against  the  walls  and 
the  chair-legs,  were  the  Colonel's  paintings  in 
fifty  stages  of  incompletion.  A  palette  occupied 
the  piano-stool ;  the  piano  was  decorated  with 
writing  materials  and  half-emptied  wine-glasses; 
and  on  the  hearth  a  small  monkey  sat,  eating 
cake  and  watching  us  with  his  little  bright  eyes. 

Hardly  a  seat  was  unoccupied  by  books,  fans, 
or  embroidery,  so  we  stood  about  rather  stupidly. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Lucretia  tried  to  look  politely  unconscious,  and 
frowned  terribly  at  Theodore,  who  was  openly 
entertained.  Mr.  Hamlin  stood  by  a  window, 
and  examined  with  much  interest  the  name  of 
the  man  who  sold  him  his  straw  hat.  After  a 
season  of  silence,  a  voice  called  from  an  upstairs 
window,  — 

"  Did  anybody  come,  Aunt  Judy?  Here  I 
am,  if  you  are  looking  for  me." 

Upon  this,  Aunt  Judy  issued  from  the  carriage 
house,  crossed  the  lawn,  came  in  the  front  door, 
and  puffed  noisily  upstairs. 

"  'Clar  for 't !  "  she  exclaimed,  "done  been 
ebberywhar  to  fine  yer.  Ben  all  tro'  de  house 
an'  de  barns  an'  dc  garding.  Rosalby,  she  's 
done  gone  to  hunt  yc  in  dc  strawb'ry  bed,  an' 
Sam,  he 's  done  gone  out  to  de  hen-house. 
Whar  ye  been  hid  to?" 

"Why,  I  ran  up  the  other  stairs,"  was  the 
reply. 

After   this  followed  whisperings,   some   sup- 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


pressed  laughter,  and  a  good  deal  of  running 
to  and  fro.  There  was  calling  for  "  Almira," 
and  "  little  black  Sam  ;  "  there  was  a  crash  of 
breaking  china,  and  the  excited  barking  of  a 
dog.  After  some  time,  Mrs.  Sparhawk's  voice 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Good  heavens  !  Then  I  must  have  left  it 
downstairs.  Run,  Rosalba,  and  get  it  somehow, 
before  any  of  them  see  it.  What?  Why,  so  it 
is.  How  stupid  !  " 

After  this  came  a  short  silence,  then  the  swish 
of  skirts  on  the  bare  oak  stairs,  and  in  came 
Mrs.  Sparhawk,  perfectly  dressed,  perfectly 
cordial,  perfectly  at  her  ease,  and  apparently 
sublimely  unconscious  of  the  noisy  house,  the 
untidy  rooms,  or  the  length  of  time  she  had 
kept  us  waiting. 

"  How  simply  angelic  of  you  all  to  come  and 
see  me  this  morning ! "  she  exclaimed  cordi 
ally.  "  I  have  been  absolutely  dying  of  ennui. 
I  told  the  Colonel  that  if  this  direful  stupidity 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


continued  we  should  really  have  to  be  divorced 
for  the  sake  of  variety.  Three  years  I  was 
at  Tehuantepec,  Mr.  Hamlin,  and  positively 
it  was  not  so  dull  as  Arrowsic.  There,  at 
least,  the  natives  were  forever  killing  one 
another,  and  one  was  always  on  the  qui  vive 
against  centipedes.1' 

Lucretia's  formal,  polite  little  greeting  was 
quite  lost  in  this  flow  of  words ;  and  Theodore 
and  Mr.  Hamlin  and  I  grinned  inanely,  and  did 
not  attempt  to  speak. 

"  The  Colonel  and  I  endured  each  other 
quite  as  long  as  we  could,"  continued  Mrs. 
Sparhawk,  airily,  "  and  then  he  went  down  to 
sketch  the  intervale  meadows,  and  I  was  driven 
to  gossip  with  Aunt  Judy.  Do  sit  down,  if 
you  can  find  enough  empty  chairs.  Aunt 
Judy  ought  really  to  have  sent  Rosalba  in 
to  set  things  to  rights.  I  dare  say  she  may 
have  done  so,  but  the  child  will  always  play 
on  the  piano  instead  of  dusting  —  not  that  I 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


53 


blame  her.  I  'd  do  the  same  myself,  I  'm 
sure." 

Our  hostess  laughed  cheerfully,  put  up  her 
eyeglass,  which  was  always  falling  down,  and 
swept  across  the  room,  knocking  over  several 
pictures  and  an  Indian  jug  with  her  train.  She 
tilted  up  a  low  arm-chair  and  emptied  it  of  a 
tiny  Spanish  poodle  who  had  entered  the  room 
with  her. 

"  Cherubino,"  she  said,  "  you  arc  a  nasty,  sel 
fish  creature;  did  you  know  it,  little  beast?" 

She  sank  into  the  velvet  depths  and  continued 
talking  easily. 

"  Is  it  not  strange  that  a  dog  will  be  so 
intensely  selfish?  You  may  trust  Cherubino 
always  to  secure  this  chair  for  his  nap,  —  quite 
the  softest  and  easiest  chair  in  the  whole  house, 
I  assure  you,  —  and  yet  this  little  pig  will  calmly 
take  it  without  a  thought  that  another  might 
enjoy  it  as  well  as  he.  Ah,  well !  One  must 
take  them  as  they  are  created.  I  suppose  one 


54 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


can't  expect  to  find  dogs  with  the  finer  feelings 
of  human  beings,  can  one,  Mr.  Hamlin?  " 

By  this  time  we  had  all  succeeded  in  finding 
seats,  and  Lucrctia  and  I  had  become  shame 
faced  under  the  awful  conviction  that  Mrs.  Spar- 
hawk  had  entirely  forgotten  that  she  had  ever 
invited  us  to  come  to  luncheon.  The  injured 
Cherubino  was  being  forced  to  beg  for  choco 
lates  from  the  silver  slipper,  which  he  did 
sulkily  and  without  enthusiasm.  Suddenly  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  turned. 

"  You  have  come  to  luncheon,"  she  said, 
laughing.  "  Now  do  not  think  I  entirely  forgot 
it,  for  that  is  not  so ;  but  I  talk  so  much  that 
you  might  think  me  volatile.  The  Colonel  was 
speaking  of  your  coming  at  the  breakfast  table 
this  morning,  —  positively,  —  and  Aunt  Judy  is 
making  chicken  pate.  Cherubino,  you  rascal, 
don't  stand  so  one-sided !  I  declare,  though, 
I  had  forgotten  that  the  Archery  Club  met  here 
this  afternoon !  I  do  hope  they  '11  remember  to 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


55 


fetch  a  target.  The  children  have  quite  de 
stroyed  ours,  little  vandals." 

She  boxed  Cherubino's  ears  lightly,  and  lean 
ing  back  in  the  chair,  put  on  her  glasses  and 
settled  her  white  gown. 

"  I  abominate  archery,"  she  declared.  "  It 
murders  one's  wrist  in  such  a  manner,  and  then, 
one  never  can  hit  the  nasty  target,  one  must 
stand  so  far  away;  beside,  does  n't  it  strike  you, 
Mr.  Hamlin,  that  they  use  very  small  targets  in 
Arrowsic?  " 

"  Minute,"  agreed  Mr.  Hamlin,  seriously. 
"  However,  I  think  Miss  Dudley  and  young 
Grecnleaf  would  hit  in  any  case ;  and  if  you 
will  all  pardon  me,  I  should  say  the  rest  of 
the  Club  would  miss  a  target  as  large  as  a 
cart-wheel." 

"  It  is  a  nasty  club,"  assented  Mrs.  Sparhawk. 
"  By  the  bye,  Mr.  Hamlin,  I  wonder  of  whom 
you  constantly  remind  me.  I  should  say  it  was 
somebody  in  China.  I  spent  ten  mortal  years 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


in  China,  and  your  face  somehow  reminds  me 
of  Hong-Kong." 

Somebody  once  added  up  the  years  that  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  had  spent  in  various  spots  on  the 
globe,  and  found  that,  according  to  her  own 
confession,  she  must  at  present  be  between 
eighty-five  and  ninety  years  of  age. 

"  I  have  never  been  in  China,"  began  Mr. 
Hamlin,  with  that  feeling  of  vague  foolishness 
one  always  has  when  one's  face  is  remarked 
upon,  when  steps  sounded  on  the  piazza,  and 
Colonel  Sparhawk,  with  his  easel,  tin  color-box, 
and  white  umbrella,  came  into  the  room. 

He  is  a  man  of  middle  height,  inclining 
strongly  to  stoutness,  of  a  florid  complexion 
and  pompous  bearing,  but  with  a  very  affable 
manner,  a  leaning  toward  gallantry,  and  a  deep 
voice,  rather  husky  from  good  living,  —  the 
last  person  one  would  select  for  an  invalid ; 
yet  his  retirement  was  due  to  malarial  fevers, 
and  he  is  popularly  said  to  be  dogged  by  a 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  57 

gaunt  and  chilly  bogy  who  only  waits  a  bad 
season  or  the  like 'opportunity  to  pounce  upon 
him. 

"  This  is  delightful,"  he  declared,  as  he  greeted 
us ;  "a  charming  surprise.  After  all,  surprises 
are  the  spice  of  life." 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  laughed  and  adjusted  her 
eyeglass. 

"Now,  my  life,"  she  said,  "do  not  pretend 
that  we  were  not  speaking  of  the  pleasure  at 
breakfast,  because  you  know  \ve  were ! " 

"  True,  very  true,"  briskly  rejoined  the  Col 
onel  ;  "  most  assuredly,  herzliebchen,  but  I  'm 
sure  the  young  ladies  will  pardon  the  mistake 
of  an  old  soldier.  I  remember  that  one  morning 
when  we  were  on  the  Isthmus,  it  was  intensely 
warm,  not  a  breath  stirring,  and  some  of  the 
natives  had  —  " 

"  Not  now,  my  own  darling,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Sparhawk,  rising;  "it  just  occurs  to  me  that  I 
have  been  horribly  remiss.  These  young  ladies 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


have  had  no  chance  to  lay  aside  their  hats  and 
gloves.  Really,  liebchen,  I  shall  throttle  that 
wretched  monkey  of  yours  if  he  continues  to 
glare  at  me  in  that  offensive  manner.  He  is 
uncommonly  nasty  to-day." 

"  Always  as  you  say,  my  own,"  said  the 
Colonel,  as  he  gallantly  held  the  door  open  for 
us  to  pass  out. 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  deposited  us  in  a  big,  sunny, 
untidy  chamber,  where  she  left  us  with  the  in 
formation  that  we  should  find  the  rouge  in  the 
upper  bureau  drawer.  Lucrctia  turned  upon 
me  with  a  horrified  face. 

"  She  thinks  we  paint !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  and 
she  never  expected  us  to  luncheon.  She  had 
forgotten  all  about  it." 

"  She  got  over  it  nicely." 

"  I  had  the  greatest  mind  to  go  home,"  said 
Lucretia,  tragically ;  "  only  I  did  n't  know  what 
to  say,  and  I  was  afraid  of  making  a  bad  matter 
worse." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


59 


"  Pooh !  "  I  replied  unconcernedly,  "  why 
should  you  care?  She  does  n't.  I  don't  mind 
a  bit." 

"You  are  always  getting  into  fixes,"  retorted 
my  sister,  severely.  "  You  are  used  to  them, 
and  I  am  not.  Where  is  the  towel  ? " 

There  was  none  to  be  found,  but  this  was  a 
trifle ;  and  where  one  had  ivory-backed  brushes, 
pink  Sevres  boxes,  gold-topped  perfume  flasks, 
and  satin  pincushions,  how  could  one  grumble 
at  an  empty  ewer,  no  pins,  and  a  total  lack  of 
towels  ? 

In  the  parlor  we  found  Rodney  and  Bevis. 
The  regiment  was  disbanded,  and  they  were 
playing  with  the  monkey  and  partaking  of 
rations  of  seed-cakes,  of  which  they  had  a 
wonderful  supply. 

"  Bevis,  my  man,"  said  the  Colonel,  who 
adored  his  children,  "  come  here  and  speak  to 
these  charming  young  ladies.  Let  them  see 
you  give  the  officers'  salute." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


But  alas  for  pretty  Bevis  !  He  proved  upon 
closer  inspection  to  be  both  dirty  and  tousled. 
His  yellow  curls  were  in  wild  confusion,  there 
was  a  horrible  blue  bruise  above  one  eye,  and 
a  red  gash  on  his  left  cheek. 

"  Why,  Bevis  !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  with 
solicitude,  "  you  have  hurt  yourself  badly.  You 
are  a  brave  little  man  not  to  cry,  but  how  did  it 
happen?  Tell  papa.  My  life,  pardon  me,  but 
will  you  look  at  Bevis?" 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  was  talking  with  Theodore 
about  Morris  wall  papers.  She  put  up  her 
glasses  and  regarded  Bevis  for  an  instant  with 
a  bored  expression.  She  gave  a  little  French 
shrug. 

"  I  see  nothing  the  matter,"  she  said,  "  ex 
cept  that  his  face  is  unconscionably  dirty. 
You  may  be  quite  certain,  mon  ami,  that  he 
would  cry  if  he  were  hurt.  I  never  knew 
him  to  restrain  himself  from  mere  motives  of 
delicacy." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Pooh  !  "  sneered  Rodney,  somewhat  envious 
of  the  sensation  that  Bevis  was  making.  "  He 
isn't  hurted  any  'tall.  He's  only  a  ninjun; 
he  painted  hisself  out  o'  the  little  silver  tubes 
upstairs." 

"  But  you  look  shockingly,"  declared  the 
Colonel.  "  I  am  really  mortified  that  these 
nice  young  ladies  should  see  you.  Come  with 
me,  both  of  you.  We  must  go  at  once  and 
find  Almira;"  and  the  gallant  Colonel  led  his 
dishevelled  sons  away. 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  watched  their  departure  with 
the  dispassionate  mien  of  one  having  no  manner 
of  personal  interest  in  the  affair. 

"The  poor  Colonel,"  she  said.  "What  a 
bother  children  are,  to  be  sure  !  Did  it  ever 
occur  to  you,  Mr.  Hamlin,  that  they  are  like 
teeth?  They  begin  to  make  trouble  as  soon 
as  they  enter  the  world,  and  one  is  always 
tormented  by  them  until  one  is  rid  of  them." 
She  opened  and  closed  her  fan,  and  then  added 


62  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

swiftly:  "  Now  do  not  think  I  am  so  inhuman 
as  to  mean  until  they  die ;  of  course  I  mean 
until  they  are  married." 

At  this  moment  the  little  black  boy  an 
nounced  that  luncheon  was  ready,  and  Colonel 
Sparhawk  joined  us. 

The  luncheon  was  quite  as  incongruous  as 
everything  else  in  that  singular  household. 
Delicate  gold  and  lilac  china  and  old  India  ware 
were  side  by  side  with  bits  of  ironstone.  The 
linen,  though  torn,  was  richly  embroidered. 
There  was  an  epergne  of  Sevres  where  lovely 
rosy  cupids  rioted  among  lilies  and  ferns.  The 
Colonel  barbecued  thin  slices  of  ham  upon  a 
silver  blazer,  the  chicken  pates  were  served  in 
tin  dishes,  the  coffee  pot  had  no  handles  and 
very  little  nose.  The  cookery,  however,  was 
marvellous.  Not  Harriet's  choicest  triumphs, 
nor  the  most  secret  of  Aunt  Jane's  ancestral 
receipts,  could  equal  that  delicacy  of  seasoning, 
those  fine  and  mysterious  flavors,  that  exquisite 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  melting  "  turn "  to  which  each  dish  was 
brought. 

About  midway  of  the  meal  the  door  was 
pushed  open  by  Bevis,  angelic  in  white  and 
azure,  his  curls  like  spun  gold,  and  his  rosy 
little  face  cleared  of  its  war  paint. 

"  Comin'  to  cat  wid  you,"  he  announced 
winsomely. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  are  not,"  replied  his  father. 
"  You  will  have  your  bread  and  milk  as  usual 
in  the  nursery." 

A  small  cloud  crossed  the  placid  heaven  of 
Bcvis's  face. 

"Bread  an'  milt  is  nasty,"  urged  he,  sweetly; 
"  Bevis  wants  storbies,  lots  o'  storbics,  an'  cakes 
an'  tarts." 

"  Go  away,  Bevis,"  said  the  Colonel,  briefly. 

"  Don't  want  to  g'\vay,"  smiled  Bevis;  "want 
to  come  in  an'  eat  wid  you." 

"  Bevis,"  demanded  his  father,  "  do  you  wish 
me  to  take  you  to  Almira?" 


64 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Apparently  Bevis  did  not,  for  he  at  once 
began  a  hasty  retreat,  and  catching  his  foot  in  a 
rug,  fell  to  the  floor,  where  he  lay  howling 
lustily.  Instantly  Mrs.  Sparhawk  looked  up 
from  her  strawberries  and  put  down  the  sugar 
sifter.  She  rose  from  the  table  and  swept 
tempest-like  across  the  room  to  clasp  the  wail 
ing  Bevis  in  her  arms.  The  Colonel  became 
conscience-stricken. 

"  My  own  love,"  said  he,  "  has  he  really  hurt 
himself?  What  ails  him  ?  " 

She  turned  and  faced  her  husband  with  the 
air  of  a  tragedy  queen,  her  head  thrown  back 
and  the  child  close  to  her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  Colonel  Sparhawk,"  she  ex 
claimed  vehemently;  "a  mere  trifle,  too  light 
to  be  even  spoken  of.  Pray  go  on  with  your 
luncheon.  My  child  has  fallen  and  killed  him 
self.  He  is  dying;  that  is  all.  I  see  plainly 
that  it  is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence  to 
you." 


A    WOODLAXD    WOOING. 


Thc  Colonel  looked  half  amused  and  half 
distressed. 

"  I  want  to  be  to  de  tabul,"  sobbed  the  dying 
Bevis. 

"  And  so  you  shall,  my  licbling,"  said  his 
mother. 

She  established  him  at  her  side,  and  smoothed 
out  the  peach-colored  satin  ribbons  at  her  belt. 
No  May  morning  was  ever  blander  than  her 
unruffled  face. 

"  Now,  why  is  it,"  smilingly  demanded  she, 
regarding  Mr.  Hamlin  over  the  blue  jar  of 
Chinese  sweetmeats  she  began  serving,  —  "why 
is  it  that  these  cumquots  remind  me  of  you,  just 
as  Hong-Kong  seems  to  do?" 

o  o 

"  My  heart,"  ventured  the  Colonel,  "  how 
irrelevant  you  sometimes  are  !  " 

"  Limkin  !  "  exclaimed  his  wife,  reproachfully. 

"  Limkin,"  the  form  into  which  the  black  cook 
had  corrupted  liebcJicn,  is  one  of  Mrs.  Spar- 

hawk's  many  names  for  the  Colonel. 

5 


66  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

"  Well,  but  are  you  not?  "  pursued  the  Colonel, 
playfully. 

"  I  don't  suppose,  limkin,"  said  Mrs.  Spar- 
hawk,  much  aggrieved,  "  that  you  have  the 
slightest  idea  how  much  fault  you  find  with  me." 

"  My  life,"  exclaimed  the  conscience-stricken 
Colonel,  "  to  find  a  fault  in  you  would  be 
impossible." 

"  Then  I  wish  you  would  not  appear  to  do 
so,"  pouted  Mrs.  Sparhawk. 

"  My  own  love,"  protested  the  Colonel,  "  on 
my  honor  I  never  will  again." 

Matters  being  thus  adjusted,  Mrs.  Sparhawk 
went  on  serving  the  cumquots  with  a  pair  of 
curious  silver  tongs,  while  Bevis  beside  her 
revelled  in  berries  and  cream,  as  absolutely  for 
gotten  by  his  mother  as  if  he  had  slept  for  ages 
in  an  Egyptian  catacomb. 

Very  soon  another  step,  Rodney's  this  time, 
was  heard  in  the  hall,  and  Rodney's  head  was 
thrust  in  at  the  door. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING, 


67 


"  I  want  to  be  to  the  table  too,"  he  said. 

"  You  cannot  come,  you  untidy  child,"  said 
his  mother,  eying  him  with  strong  disfavor. 

"  But  you  let  Bevis,"  urged  Rodney,  with 
vague  ideas  of  justice  seething  in  his  childish 
brain. 

"  Bevis  is  clean  and  lovely,  and  you  are  a 
nasty  little  gypsy,"  said  Mrs.  Sparhawk.  "  Go 
away  at  once,  or  I  will  tell  Joe  to  run  the  lawn- 
mower  over  you." 

"  If  you  do,"  replied  the  undaunted  Rodney, 
by  no  means  behind  his  mother  in  the  invention 
of  direful  threats,  —  "  if  you  do  I  will  turn  into 
a  bear  and  chew  off  your  head  and  all  your 
fingers.  Then  how '11  you  feel?" 

At  this  moment  the  black  woman  came  in 
with  the  ices. 

"  Don'  yer  min',  honey,"  she  said,  with  unc 
tuous  sympathy ;  "  jes'  you  come  long  o'  you 
olc  Aunt  Judy  an'  see  wat  she  done  made 
yer." 


68  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

The  fickle  mind  of  Rodney  being  thus  di 
verted,  he  clattered  briskly  across  the  room  and 
disappeared. 

"  Really,"  laughed  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  "  I  never 
saw  the  equal  of  Aunt  Judy.  She  has  been 
with  me  ever  since  Rodney  was  a  baby,  and 
she  is  a  faithful  soul,  but  the  way  she  spoils 
those  children  is  abominable.  If  she  says  no, 
she  does  not  mean  no,  and  of  course  the  boys 
are  aware  of  it.  She  has  n't  a  shadow  of  firm 
ness,  not  a  shadow.  No,  Bevis,  not  another 
berry  to-day,  not  one." 

"  I  had  seven,  five,  free,"  pleaded  Bevis,  plain 
tively.  "  I  want  a  hunncrd." 

"  You  have  had  already  more  than  five 
hundred,  you  little  gourmand." 

"  Peese,  pcese !  "  said  Bevis,  holding  out  his 
plate  with  both  hands. 

"  Bevis,"  demanded  his  mother,  "  when  I  say 
no,  do  I  mean  it  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Bevis,  boldly;    "you  say  no, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


69 


and  den  you  say  '  don't  hoover,'  and  den  I  go 
an'  do  it." 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  laughed  heartily. 

"  What  will  that  child  say  next?"  she  asked. 
"Colonel,  do  give  him  some  berries;  he  cer 
tainly  deserves  them." 

"  When  I  lived  in  Baltimore,"  began  Mr. 
Hamlin,  joining  in  the  laugh,  "  I  used  to 
know  a  — 

"  Baltimore,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Sparhawk. 
"  There !  I  know  all  about  it  now.  Hong- 
Kong  and  the  cumquots  and  everything.  It 
is  that  Judge  Hamlin.  Limkin,  don't  you  re 
member  that  Judge  Hamlin  we  met  in  Hong- 
Kong?  He  was  going  round  the  world  for 
his  health,  or  else  he  had  ruined  his  health  in 
going  round  the  world ;  anyhow,  he  afterward 
wrote  a  book  on  '  Eastern  Jurisdiction/  and  he 
lives  in  Baltimore.  Do  you  know  him,  Mr. 
Hamlin  ?  " 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


"  He  is  my  uncle,"  replied  Mr.  Hamlin, 
quietly. 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  put  on  her  glasses  and  re 
garded  the  young  man  with  a  new  interest. 

"  You  look  like  him,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  not 
the  name  only  which  made  me  think  of  him. 
We  owe  you  even  more  than  the  hospitality 
due  to  the  ordinary  visitor  to  Arrowsic.  Your 
uncle  entertained  us  many  times  in  his  beau 
tiful  home  in  Baltimore." 

She  was  rising  from  the  table  as  she  spoke. 
The  earliest  of  the  archery  arrivals  was  an 
nounced,  and  she  can  hardly  have  caught  the 
reply  of  Mr.  Hamlin, — 

"  I  shall  be  quite  content  to  waive  any  honors 
given  me  on  my  uncle's  account.  My  own  dues 
as  Mr.  Foster's  friend  will  content  me,"  he  said 
rather  stiffly. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


VI. 

WHAT   BOB    SAYS. 

THE  other  day  at  Mrs.  Sparhawk's  —  I  mean 
when  our  Archery  Club  met  there  —  we  made 
a  jolly  old  plan,  if  we  can  only  put  it  through. 

Our  Archery  Club  is  a  queer  affair  anyway ; 
and  I  did  n't  much  blame  Hamlin  for  laughing, 
for  some  of  the  girls  do  shoot  worse  than  words 
can  tell.  Josephine  Foster  is  so  afraid  of  snap 
ping  her  wrist  that  she  acts  like  a  perfect  muff; 
and  Lucretia  is  rather  afraid  of  her  hands,  too, 
though  she  shoots  exactly  according  to  rules, 
as  she  does  everything  else.  Betty  never  hits 
the  target,  though  I  never  can  just  tell  why, 
and  she  always  loses  her  arrows.  Emily  Dud 
ley  is  the  only  girl  who  is  much  good  at  shoot 
ing,  and  the  men  are  not  so  much  better  than 
the  women.  As  for  me,  I  can  hit  the  gold 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


often  enough ;  but  I  never  get  any  credit  for  it, 
because  I  don't  hold  my  bow  according  to  rule. 
Mr.  Harris  says  he  would  rather  hold  his  bow 
correctly  and  never  hit  the  target,  than  to  hit 
the  gold  and  hold  his  bow  as  I  do. 

Well,  that  afternoon,  you  know,  we  seemed 
to  be  shooting  rather  worse  than  usual;  and 
somebody  —  Hamlin,  I  think  it  was  —  happened 
to  say  that  it  would  be  a  bad  look  for  us  if 
we  had  nothing  to  eat  except  what  we  could 
shoot.  Then  some  one  else  said  that  we 
could  shoot  things  enough  if  we  were  only  off 
in  the  woods ;  and  then  Ted  Foster  said  that 
we  might  try  the  plan  when  we  went  up  to 
Sippican. 

We  have  a  Sippican  party  every  season,  and 
sometimes  we  camp  out  for  a  whole  month. 
We  have  big  water-proof  tents,  and  we  build  a 
stone  fireplace.  We  find  perch  and  blueberries 
on  the  mountain  as  big  as  grapes  —  at  least,  of 
course,  I  mean  the  perch  are  in  the  pond. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


73 


Sippican  is  the  Indian  name  for  Clear  Water; 
and  there's  a  pond  and  a  mountain,  and  it's 
the  completest  place  to  carnp  out  in  that  you 
ever  saw.  You  have  no  end  of  fun  up  there. 
Sometimes  it  rains,  and  the  tents  leak,  and  the 
fire  won't  burn,  and  you  pretend  you  are  cast 
away  on  a  desert  island  ;  and  you  play  all  sorts 
of  pranks,  and  go  trouting  up  the  brook,  and 
have  tableaux  and  tell  stories  in  the  evenings ; 
and  the  days  arc  so  short,  and  Lucretia  is 
shocked  because  you  eat  so  much,  and  every 
thing  is  just  as  jolly  as  it  can  be. 

So  this  year  we  're  going  to  try  the  new  plan. 
Of  course  it  all  began  in  fun,  but  most  every 
body  has  agreed  to  it,  and  it  will  be  fun  enough. 
Aunt  Jane  is  sure  we  shall  starve;  but  Fred 
Harris  and  I  are  sure  that  we  can  shoot  squir 
rels  and  quail  and  partridges  enough  for  the 
whole  party — there  aren't  any  game  laws  at 
Sippican.  There  used  to  be  bears  up  there, 
but  I  don't  suppose  you  could  scare  one  up 


74 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


now.  I  'd  just  like  to  meet  a  bear,  though ! 
Would  n't  I  just  send  an  arrow  ping  through  his 
heart,  and  we  'd  have  bear-steaks  for  supper  at 
Camp  Sippican ! 

I  was  almost  afraid  that  Father  would  n't  let 
me  go,  because  I  'm  studying  for  the  fall  ex 
aminations;  but  Aunt  Jane  luckily  took  it  into 
her  head  that  I  looked  pale  —  though  I  know 
it  was  only  because  the  green  blinds  were  shut 
—  and  Betty  put  in  a  good  word  for  me.  So 
Father  has  given  in,  and  I  'm  going ;  and  if  we 
don't  just  have  a  famous  time,  then  my  name 
is  not  Bob  Grecnleaf ! 


A    WOODLAXD    WOOING. 


75 


VII. 

WHAT   BETTY    SAYS. 

"THE  shay  is  ready,"  said  Harriet,  "  and  the 
young  man  is  waitin'." 

She  folded  her  arms  severely,  and  stood 
watching  me  with  the  disapproving  air  which 
seems  to  be  the  special  attribute  of  old  house 
keeper-domestics  who  have  known  one  from 
childhood. 

"  No  need  to  prink  yourself  out  any  great," 
she  remarked  rather  caustically ;  "  you  won't 
meet  nobody  but  cattle,  and  as  for  the  young 
man,  I  don't  think  he  's  one  of  the  sort  to  take 
notice." 

I  made  no  direct  reply,  for  whether  Mr.  John 
Ilamlin  "  took  notice  "  or  not  was  of  far  less 
consequence  to  me  than  the  fact  that  Bob  had 
basely  turned  me  over  to  a  stranger,  simply 


76 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


because  he  wanted  to  go  off  on  one  of  his 
innumerable  fishing  excursions  with  Fred 
Harris. 

"  And  for  my  part,"  continued  Harriet,  "  if 
it  was  necessary  for  your  par  to  go  flighting 
off  to  Portland,  it  seems  'f  you  need  n't  go 
rampaging  about  the  country  with  strange 
young  men." 

"  That 's  Bob's  fault,"  I  returned,  picking  up 
my  gloves.  "  Father  expected  him  to  go  ; 
and  as  for  Mr.  Hamlin,  I  'm  sure  it 's  kind  of 
him  to  be  willing  to  drive  me  about  with  the 
medicines  that  Father  must  send." 

"  Probably  you  '11  get  'em  all  mixed  higgledy- 
piggledy  with  your  talkin',"  sniffed  Harriet, 
following  me  down  the  shallow  old  stairs ;  but 
she  was  prevented  from  uttering  further  fore 
bodings  by  reaching  the  open  door,  just  outside 
which  was  Judge  Peters's  loose-jointed  ram 
shackle  chaise,  drawn  by  the  gaunt  old  sorrel 
mare,  "  Jane  Savage." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


77 


Mr.  Hamlin  with  cheerful  alacrity  helped  me 
to  a  scat. 

"Now  we  '11  see  how  a  civil  engineer  can  run 
a  medical  expedition,"  he  said.  "  Are  we  all 
ready?  " 

We  were,  but  apparently  Jane  Savage  was 
not.  She  was  deeply  engaged  in  gazing  at 
Harriet,  who  had  just  made  a  tumultuous  ap 
pearance  at  the  door,  —  a  vision  of  long,  waving 
arms  and  nodding  feather  duster.  She  looked 
like  a  fury,  but  she  was  only  expelling  the  flies 
which  had  feloniously  entered.  As  soon  as 
the  green  door  was  closed,  Jane  Savage  started 
of  her  own  free  will,  and  taking  her  own  pace, 
presently  left  the  village  behind  her. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  a  shallow,  stony  brook 
crosses  the  road,  and  just  beyond,  nestling  in  a 
little  valley,  is  the  group  of  poor  houses  known 
as  "  Hungry  Hollow." 

"  You  know,"  announced  Mr.  Hamlin,  "  that 
I  depend  upon  you  to  direct  me  to  the  houses, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  to  do  the  talking;  I  am  only  the  parcel 
delivery." 

"Very  well,"  I  replied ;  "  first  of  all,  then,  we 
stop  at  the  third  house  on  the  right." 

It  was  a  dismal,  dreary  little  house,  standing 
close  upon  the  dusty  road,  and  staring  blankly 
at  us  from  shutterless  windows.  A  barn  much 
larger  than  the  house  stood  just  across  the  road. 
Everybody  seemed  to  be  away  or  asleep,  ex 
cept  a  child  who  was  sitting  on  the  sunken 
door-step  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and 
her  sharp  little  chin  in  her  hands.  She  was  a 
most  aged  and  unchildish-looking  child,  with 
hair  bleached  by  the  sun,  and  small  blue  eyes 
which  looked  oddly  light-colored  when  con 
trasted  with  her  tiny  weather-beaten  face.  As 
we  stopped,  she  looked  up  dully,  then  let  her 
eyes  fall,  and  resumed  her  occupation  of  scrap 
ing  the  warm  sand  back  and  forth  with  her 
bare  feet. 

"  Isabel,"    I   cried,  "  here   is   Eliza's   sleeping 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING, 


79 


draught.  Father  had  to  go  to  Portland  to-day, 
but  he  will  come  over  to-morrow." 

The  child  neither  raised  her  head  nor  stopped 
moving  her  feet  through  the  sand. 

"  Lizy  don't  want  no  mcd'sin,"  she  said;  "she 
wants  some  flowers." 

"Some   flowers?"   I   queried. 

"  I  said  flowers,"  said  Isabel,  rather  sharply. 
"  Did  n't  ye  hear?" 

"  You  must  not  be  so  cross,  Isabel,"  I  said. 
"  If  Eliza  wants  some  flowers,  I  '11  send  her  a 
bunch  to-morrow." 

"  She  don't  want  a  bunch,"  said  Isabel;  "  she 
wants  a  cross  an'  a  wreath.  She  's  goin'  to  hev 
a  funril  day  after  to-morrer,  Lizy  is,  an'  she 
wants  a  wreath  an'  a  cross  like  what  Emma 
Parker  had  to  hern." 

Shocked  and  quieted,  we  hesitated  for  some 
thing  to  say;  and,  as  I  looked  about,  Isabel's 
mother  appeared  from  somewhere  down  the 
road.  She  is  curiously  like  Isabel,  though  tall 


8O  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

and  gaunt.  Her  hard,  brown  face  under  her 
gingham  bonnet  worked  and  twisted  a  little  as 
she  saw  me,  but  she  blinked  her  eyes  and 
closed  her  lips  in  a  reliant,  repressive  way. 
Her  large-jointed,  labor-stained  hands  clasped 
and  unclasped  nervously. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "she's  gone,  Lizy  is.  You 
can  tell  ycr  par  she  went  easy ;  dropped  off  to 
sleep  and  never  woke  up." 

She  stopped  a  moment  to  swallow  a  lump  in 
her  throat,  then  she  went  on  dully,  — 

"  Might  ez  wal  die,  I  s'pose,  an'  done  with  it, 
ez  go  pindlin'  along  an'  suffcrin'.  No  great  use 
in  livin',  fur  as  I  see.  Lizy,  she  's  the  seventh 
I  've  buried.  Live  to  fifteen  or  sixteen,  then 
grow  peaked  an'  fade  away  an'  die.  Don't 
seem  to  be  no  real  reason  why  they  should 
ever  been  born." 

"  Mrs.  Hathaway,"  I  cried,  "  don't  talk  in  this 
way ;  you  must  not.  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do 
to  help  you?  " 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  8l 

"  No,"  she  replied  in  her  stiff,  practical  way, 
"  there  aint  nothin'  to  do.  The  neighbors  hev 
been  in  to  do  for  us,  an'  he  has  writ  a  postal  to 
tell  her  Uncle  Silas  an'  Aunt  Laviny  to  come 
down  to  the  funril." 

Isabel  on  the  door-step  had  raised  her  head. 

"  But  we  aint  got  no  flowers,"  she  said,  with 
dull  persistence. 

"  You  shall  have  all  you  want,  Isabel,"  I  said. 
"  I  will  send  you  a  basket  early  to-morrow 
morning." 

The  child's  weird,  elf-like  face  lighted  up  with 
a  look  of  positive  pleasure ;  but  it  was  her 
mother  who  spoke. 

"  I  'm  sure,  I  'm  'blecged  to  ye,"  she  said ; 
"  you  mean  kind,  I  know.  Lizy  she  always 
talked  a  terrible  sight  about  what  a  beautiful 
funril  Emma  Parker  hed.  It  was  pooty,  too. 
I  'm  sure  you  're  very  'bleegin'." 

With  a  stiff  nod  by  way  of  farewell,  she  went 
around  the  house.  In  silence  Isabel  followed 


82  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

her,  and  in  silence  too  we  rode  on  up  the  rise 
and  out  of  Hungry  Hollow  with  its  poverty  and 
sorrow  and  loss. 

The  landscape  changed  from  sad  to  beau 
tiful  as  we  went  on.  Peace  and  plenty  smiled 
in  the  broad  patches  of  corn-land  where  the 
wind  rustled  the  fresh,  green  ribbons  and  the 
silk  already  burst  from  the  close,  sweet  husks. 
There  were  wide  hay-fields  too,  where  the  sec 
ond  growth  of  grass  was  exquisite  with  tints  of 
amethyst  and  dull  yellow,  and  dashes  of  red 
sorrel. 

"  Do  we  stop  at  the  next  house  ?  "  my  com 
panion  asked  at  last. 

"  Not  the  white  one,"  I  answered,  "  the  big 
yellow  one  on  the  hill.  We  have  to  let  down 
the  bars.  This  is  the  Tuell  farm." 

The  bars  being  properly  lowered,  my  com 
panion  led  Jane  Savage  up  the  rocky  ascend 
ing  pasture  which  formed  the  lawn  of  the  Tucll 
place. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Hand  me  the  pills  and  potions,"  said  the 
young  man,  cheerfully,  "  and  I  will  carry  them 
in." 

"You  had  better  go  round  to  the  back  door," 
I  mildly  suggested. 

"No,  I  shall  not,"  he  said  stoutly;  "I  shall 
give  them  one  chance  to  open  the  sacred  front 
door." 

He  went  up  confidently  through  tansy  and 
"  old-maids  "  to  the  green-painted  door.  There 
was  a  fanlight  above  it,  and  a  very  good  old 
brass  knocker,  with  which  Mr.  Hamlin  pro 
ceeded  to  wake  the  echoes  within  the  house. 
There  was  no  response ;  and  for  some  seconds 
we  waited,  studying  the  wreaths  of  gay  flowers 
upon  the  green  paper  curtains  of  the  parlor 
windows,  and  the  pair  of  conch-shells  —  a  gift 
of  some  seafaring  relative  —  which  adorn  the 
little  niches  formed  by  the  side-lights.  The 
bees  hummed  drowsily  among  the  hollyhocks, 
and  from  afar  came  the  long-drawn  "  kark, 


84 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


kark,  kar-ar-ark,"  of  some  unseen  barn-yard 
fowl. 

"It -is  no  use,  you  see,"  I  said  triumphantly; 
"  you  must  try  the  other  door." 

The  young  man  was  persistent.  He  knocked 
again.  No  sound  but  the  hen  and  the  bees. 
Then  he  grew  impatient  and  knocked  clamor 
ously.  Then  at  length  a  step  was  heard  within, 
and  a  sharp  voice  exclaimed, — 

"Don't  knock  the  door  down.  You  '11  have  to 
go  round  the  back  way;  this  door  don't  open." 

Mr.  Hamlin  refused  to  be  properly  humili 
ated.  He  cast  a  stony  glance  at  me,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  back  door.  This  opened  directly, 
and  a  small,  alert  woman  appeared.  She  had 
a  pinched,  acid  little  face,  and  with  her  neat 
cotton  gown  and  closely  pinned  hair,  had  the 
air  of  being  clewed  up,  so  to  speak,  against  any 
tempest  of  life. 

"  Wa}  ?  "  she  said  with  some  asperity  and  a 
rising  accent 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  I  brought  some  medicine  from  Dr.  Green- 
leaf,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  apologetically,  and 
added  an  account  of  the  circumstances  which 
prevented  Father  from  coming  himself. 

Mrs.  Tuell  took  the  bottle  and  examined  the 
label  with  some  suspicion. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  she  demanded,  "  and 
who  's  that  scttin'  in  the  shay  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Hamlin,"  said  the  young  man, 
quite  meekly,  "  and  it  is  the  Doctor's  daugh 
ter,  Miss  Greenleaf,  with  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Tuell,  half  appeased,  "  't  is, 
is  it  ?  Wai,  doctor  sent  the  drops  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  more  meekly  than  ever. 

"  Betty,"  she  called,  raising  her  voice  to 
address  me,  "  tell  yer  par  that  the  baby  's  come 
out  wal  with  the  red  goom.  Cathrine  she 's 
worried  about  it,  but  I  tell  her  all  strong  chil 
dren  hev  it.  You  tell  yer  par." 

With  this  she  abruptly  darted  into  the  house, 
banging  the  door  energetically  behind  her,  but 


86  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

as  we  were  turning  the  carriage  about  she 
reopened  the  door. 

"  Be  sure  ye  put  the  bars  up,"  she  cried,  "  or 
Durgin's  sheep  will  be  trapesin'  in." 

She  once  more  vanished,  and  we  rolled 
slowly  down  the  slope  to  the  road,  not  for 
getting  to  put  up  the  bars. 

"  What  a  truly  horrible  woman !  "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Hamlin,  devoutly,  as  we  once  more  jogged 
upon  our  way.  "  Is  her  husband  dead  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  answered,  "  did  n't  you  see  him 
peeping  out  from  behind  the  wood-house?  He 
is  a  very  good  man,  and  so  afraid  of  his  wife 
that  he  dares  not  call  his  soul  his  own." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  fervently. 

He  seemed  really  to  be  quite  depressed,  as 
though  he  still  felt  Mrs.  Tuell's  snapping  eyes 
upon  him.  He  became  so  noticeably  lax  in 
his  hold  on  the  reins  that  Jane  Savage  decided 
to  try  a  little  browsing,  and  turned  suggestively 
toward  the  ditch.  Recalled  by  a  sudden  tight- 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


ening  of  the  rein,  she  threw  a  reproachful  glance 
over  her  left  shoulder  and  walked  on  with  an 
air  of  meek  but  injured  dignity. 

The  old  chaise  swayed  from  side  to  side  and 
creaked  drowsily.  Little  white  and  yellow  but 
terflies  hovered  over  the  mullcn  and  white  yar 
row.  Where  the  sandy  road  was  hottest  the 
cicadas  were  uttering  their  seething  song,  and 
now  and  again  we  passed  the  hay-fields,  where 
the  mowers  stopped  work  to  look  at  us,  and 
wiped  their  scythes  on  wisps  of  freshly  cut 
grass.  It  was  past  eleven  o'clock  when  we 
stopped  at  the  home  of  Deacon  Asa  Jewett, 
whose  daughter  Lucilla  was  bed-ridden  and 
helpless  from  a  spinal  trouble.  The  Jewett 
house  was  a  red  painted  cottage  with  large  low 
chimneys  and  an  ample,  rambling  wing.  There 
was  no  front  yard.  An  ancient  lilac-tree  grew 
on  either  side  of  the  door.  On  the  left  side 
was  the  kitchen  garden ;  on  the  right  a  shady 
old  orchard  with  a  row  of  bee-hives  on  a 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


wooden  bench.  A  great  butternut-tree  shaded 
the  house  on  the  orchard  end.  A  rusty  tea 
kettle  hung  with  apparent  irrelevance  to  one 
of  its  lower  branches,  but  the  cord  attached  to 
it  explained  its  connection  with  the  grindstone 
standing  below.  Outside  the  wall,  but  still  in 
the  grateful  shade  of  the  butternut,  an  old  man 
was  sitting  on  a  chair  which  had  lost  its  back. 
He  was  whittling,  but  he  stopped  as  we  drew 
up,  and  without  speaking  gazed  at  us  with 
lack-lustre  blue  eyes. 

"  I  have  brought  Lucilla's  plasters,  Deacon 
Jewett,"  I  said,  as  I  stepped  unassisted  from  the 
low  chaise.  "I  have  some  magazines  for  her; 
shall  I  go  right  in?  " 

"  Yas,  yas,"  said  the  old  man,  rising  and 
coming  forward.  "  I  see  now  it 's  the  doctor's 
gel.  Hardly  knowed  ye  jest  at  first.  Ye  haint 
ben  round  so  frequent  with  doctor  as  ye  used 
ter.  Who's  that  with  ye  in  the  shay?" 

"  It  is  Mr.  Hamlin,  from  Baltimore.     He  is 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


89 


visiting  at  the  Fosters'/'  I  answered.  "  I  will 
run  in  myself  with  these  things,  shall  I  ?  " 

As  I  made  my  way  to  the  side  door  a  hoarse 
voice  said  suddenly,  "  O  Lord  !  Lord  !  Lord  !  " 
and  then  immediately  broke  into  a  peal  of  dis 
cordant  laughter.  It  was  Mrs.  Jewett's  parrot, 
a  disreputable  old  bird  who  could  swear  many 
a  broad,  mouth-filling  oath  in  Spanish,  but  was 
forced,  by  ignorance,  to  be  almost  respectable 
in  English.  Like  Mrs.  Tucll's  conch-shells,  the 
parrot  was  a  sign  that  we  were  not  far  inland 
after  all. 

"  I  'm  proper  glad  to  see  ye,"  said  Mrs.  Jew- 
ett,  appearing  from  the  kitchen.  "  You  come 
right  into  Lucilla's  room.  She  is  so  glad  to 
sec  a  bit  of  comp'ny." 

Lucilla  was  lying  on  a  feather-bed,  under  a 
"  rising-sun "  bccl-quilt  which  was  a  dream  of 
horrors  in  itself.  The  green  paper  curtains 
were  pulled  up  awry,  and  no  window  was  open, 
though  Mrs.  Jewett  was  a  tender  mother  and 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


tried  to  make  the  invalid  comfortable  according 
to  her  lights. 

"She's  ben  expectin'  of  your  par  all  the 
mornin',"  Mrs.  Jewett  went  on,  with  an  affection 
ate  pat  to  the  rising-sun  quilt.  "  I  do  declare 
she  has  nigh  about  wore  me  out,  Lucilla  has, 
worryin'  me  to  look  out  o'  winder  every  minute 
to  see  if  doctor  warn't  comin'." 

At  this  I  repeated  the  story  of  Father's  having 
been  called  to  Portland,  and  I  only  escaped  a 
severe  cross-questioning  about  Mr.  Hamlin  by 
presenting  the  magazines  and  a  little  parcel  of 
light  work. 

"  Law,  now,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jewett,  admir 
ingly,  "  do  jest  look  at  the  silk  pieces  that  she  's 
picked  up  for  ye  !  See  this  now,  aint  it  turky- 
ish,  though !  I  warrant  now  ye  '11  want  to  be 
bolstered  right  up,  as  soon  as  ye  Ve  hed  your 
broth,  and  begin  to  set  your  new  quilt  this  very 
day." 

As  I  went  out  of  the  house,  I  saw  Deacon 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Jewett  standing  with  one  foot  on  the  hub  of  a 
wheel  of  the  chaise.  He  was  chewing  a  straw 
and  looking  alternately  at  Mr.  Hamlin  and  down 
at  his  foot. 

"  I  wish  ye  hed  time,"  he  was  saying,  "  to 
step  over  with  me  an'  jest  take  a  look  at  it.  I 
cal'lated  to  hev  that  lot  preambulated  this  sum 
mer,  come  what  might." 

"  It  would  do  you  no  good,"  returned  Mr. 
Hamlin,  "  for  me  to  go  down  and  look  at  the 
land.  I  should  have  to  see  the  deeds." 

"  Wai,  now,"  said  the  deacon,  slowly,  "  I  tell 
ye  jest  how  't  was.  It  was  this  way :  I  went 
over  to  sec  old  Squar  Bisbec,  him  as  married 
Woodman  Puslifer's  third  darter,  Lowizy,  and 
says  I  to  him,  '  Squar,'  says  I,  '  this  ere  lot  hez 
got  to  be  preambulated,'  says  I,  '  no  two  ways 
about  it.  Ef  it  haint,'  says  I,  '  an'  ef  it  can't  be 
done  peaceable,  why,  all  is,  Lyman  Dunlap  and 
me  '11  hev  to  go  to  law  about  it,'  says  I.  Wai, 
the  squar  he  said  that  he  never  sot  up  to  know 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


nothin'  about  surveyin',  but  he  'd  studied  on  it 
a  spell  when  he  was  to  Litchfield  Academy,  an' 
he  hed  a  compass  thet  belonged  to  his  father, 
old  Squar  Lemuel  Bisbee,  and  so  I  says  —  " 

"  Laws,  Asa,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Jewett,  who 
had  followed  me  out  to  the  garden,  and  set 
briskly  to  gathering  beans,  "  don't  you  bother 
the  gentleman  about  that  old  story.  Once  get 
you  a  talkin'  about  your  land  tribulations  an' 
you  never  have  no  idea  where  to  stop." 

"  I  sh'd  git  through  a  considerable  spell 
sooner,  Silviny,"  said  the  deacon,  drily,  "  ef  I 's 
allowed  to  say  my  say." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  biting  his 
mustache. 

"Madre!  Madre!  Madre!"  cackled  the  parrot, 
who  had  come  to  join  in  the  conversation,  and 
was  standing  on  the  garden  fence, 

"Shet  up,  ye  tarnal  critter  !  "  said  the  old  man, 
sharply,  to  which  the  bird  responded,  "  Lord  ! 
Lord  !  Lord !  "  and  burst  into  a  hoarse  laugh. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


93 


"Wai,"  resumed  the  deacon,  "as  I  was  sayin', 
I  went  over  to  the  squar's  and  says  I  to  him, 
'  Squar/  says  I,  '  that  lot  hes  got  to  be  pre- 
ambulated  fust  or  last,'  says  I,  '  or  Lyman  Dun- 
lap  an'  me,  we  '11  hcv  —  ' ' 

"  Law,  father,  you  Ve  said  all  that  once  a' 
ready,"  said  Mrs.  Jewctt,  briskly. 

"  Ef  you  can  explain  this  marter  better  than 
what  I  can,  Mis'  Jewctt,"  said  the  deacon,  with 
dignity,  "  I  sh'd  be  proud  to  hev  ye  do  it." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  pretend  to  it,  father,"  replied 
his  wife,  "  I  don't  pretend  to  it.  Only  don't 
go  so  fur  round  Robin  Hood's  barn,  that  's  all 
I  meant." 

"  Wai,"  resumed  the  old  man  once  more,  "  I 
went  over  to  Squar  Bisbce  an'  says  I,  'This  ere 
lot  hes  got  to  be  preambulatcd,'  says  I,  '  or 
Lyman  Dunlap  an'  me  '11  hcv  to  go  to  law.'  So 
the  squar  he  fetched  his  compass  an'  chain 
over  one  mornin'  an'  we  got  out  a  copy  of  the 
deeds,  an'  then  we  went  down  to  the  parster  — 


94 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Mother  !  come  to  supper  !  "  interrupted  the 
parrot.  "  O  Madre  !  Madre  !  —  " 

"  Shet  up  your  tarnal  squawkin',"  said  the 
deacon,  making  a  mock  start  toward  the  bird, 
who  immediately  fell  into  extravagant  peals  of 
hoarse  laughter,  and  stepped  off  sideways  along 
the  fence  toward  a  black-cherry  tree. 

"  So  the  squar  he  fetched  over  his  compass 
an'  chain  one  mornin'  an'  we  went  down  to  the 
parster.  The  squar  he  sighted  'round  a  spell, 
and  says  he,  '  We  '11  take  the  gable  winder  of 
Widder  Thayer's  house  and  run  direct  to  that,' 
says  he.  So  he  started  and  kep  along  pretty 
free  till  all  to  once  he  come  butt  agin  that  big 
rock-maple  ye  can  jest  see  the  top  of.  So  there 
the  squar  he  sot  off  a  few  feet  to  the  northered, 
an'  then  kep  on  an'  got  Lias  down  to  help  him 
and  run  a  tol'ablc  straight  line  nigh  to  the  mid 
dle  of  the  eend  of  old  Lyman  Dunlap's  sheep 
parster.  Then  old  Lyme  he  come  out,  mad  's  a 
hopper,  an'  his  son  Chapman  with  him,  —  the 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


95 


one  that  went  off  to  Arizony  artervvards,  an' 
got  to  be  postmaster  somewheres  out  there,  an' 
died,  —  an'  old  Lyme  he  fetched  along  another 
deed,  an'  says  he,  '  You  '11  get  yourselves  ink 
trouble,'  says  he,  '  ef  you  keep  on  in  this  ere 
direction,  now  I  warn  ye.'  So  the  squar,  bein' 
a  peaceable  man,  an'  not  likin'  to  make  no  fuss, 
and  I  bein'  gone  up  to  the  house  at  the  time  to 
fetch  a  hatchet,  he  sot  back  a  matter  o'  two 
yards  on  tother  side.  Then  Lias  he  follered  it 
out  alone  a  spell,  while  squar,  bein'  a  very 
commodatin1  man,  went  up  to  help  Chapman 
Dunlap  git  a  turnip  out'n  a  cow's  throat.  So  I 
says  then  to  Lias,  '  Now,  Lias,'  says  I  — 

Just  here  a  small  horn  was  blown  within  the 
house,  and  Mrs.  Jewett's  warm,  red  face  was 
turned  triumphantly  from  the  bean  vines. 

"  There  now,  father,"  she  said,  "  you  '11  hev  to 
stop  and  let  the  gentleman  alone.  That 's  Lu- 
cilla's  horn,  and  it  means  that  she  wants  her 
par.  She  blows  a  horn  for  him,  and  rings  a  bell 


96 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


for  me.  Now,  father,  you  know  you  never  keep 
Lucilla  waitin'." 

"  Wai,  wal,"  said  the  deacon,  reluctantly, 
"  wal,  wal,  I  s'pose  so.  I  '11  see  ye  when  ye 
come  back  along,  and  then  mebbe  ye  '11  step 
down  an'  take  a  look  at  the  lot." 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  the  young  man ;  and  he 
gave  a  sudden  jerk  to  the  reins  which  caused 
Jane  Savage  to  start  down  the  hill  at  a  most 
unusual  pace. 

"  What  a  tedious  old  numskull,"  laughed  Mr. 
Hamlin. 

"  Well,"  I  rejoined  severely,  "  you  ought  to 
have  known  better  than  to  let  him  know  your 
profession." 

"  But  he  asked  me." 

"  Of  course  he  asked  you  ;  but  if  you  are  going 
to  tell  these  people  all  they  ask  you,  you  will 
have  to  reveal  all  your  deadliest  secrets.  Dea 
con  Jewett  is  nearly  crazy  with  land  quarrels." 

"  We  will  go  home  by  some  other  way,"  said 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


97 


the  young  man,  decidedly;  "I  do  not  dare  to 
risk  a  second  meeting  with  the  deacon  to-day." 

"  We  shall  be  longer  getting  home,"  I  ob 
jected,  "  and  it  is  nearly  dinner  time." 

"  If  you  are  hungry  you  shall  have  some 
raspberries,"  he  replied;  "but  I  shall  absolutely 
not  risk  Deacon  Jewett  again  to-day." 

Our  way  lay  through  lower  and  moister  lands 
now.  We  crossed  a  brook  full  of  brown  stones, 
dark  basins,  and  sunny  shallows.  At  our  left,  in 
the  marshy  meadow,  the  stream  widened  into  a 
placid  pool.  Blue  pickerel-weed  and  yellow 
beaver  lilies  grew  here,  and  above  them  darted 
the  burnished  dragon-flies,  swift  yet  aimless. 
Over  the  walls  clambered  the  wild  convolvulus, 
with  large  pink-and-white  bells.  The  wild 
honeysuckle,  white  and  frail,  rilled  the  warm  air 
with  its  heavy  fragrance.  There  is  so  much 
sweetness  in  these  low-lying  meadows  that  it 
was  a  real  joy  to  come  once  more  to  higher 

land;  to  drive  through  a  delicious  bit  of  beech- 

7 


98 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


wood,  where  the  scarlet  fire-lilies  flamed  in  the 
hollows  among  the  sturdy  brakes.  It  was  just 
beyond  the  cool  and  pretty  beech-wood  that  we 
came  to  the  old  Butterfield  house,  our  next  and 
last  stopping-place. 

There  was  no  need  here  of  alighting  to  let 
down  the  bars,  for  they  were  already  down,  and 
some  cows  and  sheep  were  cropping  the  sorrel, 
thistles,  and  "  poverty  weed  "  which  formed  the 
chief  part  of  the  herbage.  The  house  is  of  two 
stories,  square  and  unpainted.  Its  building  was 
evidently  begun  by  somebody  whose  ambition 
outran  his  wealth;  for  all  the  upper  windows 
were  boarded  up,  and  the  front  door,  lacking 
the  usual  flight  of  steps,  had  the  appearance  of 
having  been  left  stranded  by  some  high  tide, 
half-way  up  the  front  wall  of  the  house.  There 
had  been  an  attempt  to  fence  in  a  small  front 
yard  from  the  vagrant  sheep,  but  slats  were  few 
in  the  unpainted  paling,  and  the  gate  hung 
loosely  by  one  hinge.  Within  was  a  wild  snarl 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


99 


of  cinnamon  roses,  tansy,  butter-and-eggs,  and 
old  maid's  pinks.  A  shambling  wing  ran  from 
the  left  side  of  the  house.  The  door  was  stand 
ing  open,  allowing  us  to  look  across  the  kitchen, 
through  an  opposite  open  door,  to  the  sunny 
hay-fields  beyond.  On  the  window-sill  some 
petunias  and  geraniums  —  which  should  have 
been  long  since  put  in  beds  —  pined  in  tomato- 
cans  and  a  couple  of  broken-nosed  teapots.  In 
odd  contrast  to  the  shabby  yard  and  shiftless 
house  was  a  smart  silvered  glass  bell-knob  at 
the  kitchen  door. 

"  The  front  door  is  beyond  argument  this 
time,"  remarked  Mr.  Hamlin ;  and  we  made 
our  way  to  the  side  yard. 

Stepping  carefully  over  a  rusty  pan  of  meal 
and  water,  in  which  a  quarter-grown  chicken 
was  wildly  floundering,  he  pulled  the  bell-knob, 
which  immediately  came  out  in  his  hand,  bring 
ing  with  it  about  a  yard  of  wire,  and  sending 
the  young  man  violently  staggering  backward. 


IOQ  A   WOODLAND    WOOING. 

After  recovering  himself,  he  made  another  ven 
ture  and  knocked.  In  response  to  this  two 
hens  appeared  from  some  distant  part  of  the 
kitchen  and  peered  at  us  curiously  as  if  demand 
ing  our  business;  then,  finding  us  of  no  real 
interest,  they  drifted  away,  apparently  to  resume 
those  domestic  employments  which  our  knock 
had  interrupted.  Just  as  we  were  about  to  try 
another  knock,  a  woman  was  seen  crossing  the 
blazing  field  beyond  the  opposite  kitchen  door. 
She  entered  the  kitchen  panting  and  rubicund, 
without  at  first  noticing  us. 

"  There  now,  shoo !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  rich 
voice  and  with  a  lenient  manner;  "just  shoo, 
will  ye,  shoo !  Who  give  you  license  to  okkipy 
the  house?  Mebby  now,  you'd  like  to  be  arst 
into  the  fore-room  and  hev  a  seat,  would  n't  ye? 
Shoo ! " 

Preceded  by  a  number  of  scuttling  hens,  she 
came  to  the  door  and  discovered  her  visitors. 

"  Sakes  alive !  "  she  said,  with  a  rich  chuck- 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  IOi 

ling  laugh,  "  I  did  n't  know  there  was  nobody 
to  the  door.  Comin'  in  out  o'  the  blaze  so,  my 
eyes  is  sort  o'  dazzled.  Wai,  now,  I  'm  real 
pleased  to  see  ye.  I  just  ben  cross  lots  to 
borry  some  aigs  of  Mis'  Twitchell.  Thought 
I  'd  stir  up  an  aig  pie  for  supper.  Might  think 
we  'd  hev  aigs  enough  of  our  own  to  see  the 
hens,  but  fact  is  the  weasels  gets  in  an'  sucks 
'em.  I  told  him  he  'cl  oughter  mend  up  the 
holes,  but  somehow  he  haint  got  round  to  it. 
Now  do  come  in  an'  set  down.  Here  I  be 
runnin'  on  like  old  Rideout,  an'  never  puttin' 
on  no  manners  at  all." 

"  Thank  you,  we  cannot  stop,"  said  Mr,  Ham- 
lin.  "  We  have  brought  you  some  medicine 
from  Dr.  Greenleaf." 

"  Oh,  sure  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Butterficld, 
"  and  I  'm  sure  I  'm  real  'bleeged  to  ye.  'T  was 
for  Lowizy's  back.  The  fact  is,  her  cousin 
Jeduthan  Twitchell,  he  came  along  ter  noon 
in  his  old  shay,  and  Lowizy  she  up  an'  rid  along 


IO2  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

of  him  over  to  the  Holler  to  hear  the  revivalist 
speak.  I  cal'late  she  '11  feel  the  need  of  her 
medicine  afore  she  gits  home.  Jeduthan's 
colt 's  got  a  dreadful  pudgicky  gait." 

"  Here,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  contritely,  "  is  your 
bell-knob.  I  'm  afraid  that  I  broke  it,  though 
I  did  not  mean  to  pull  it  too  hard." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  returned  reassuringly,  "  you 
did  n't  break  it.  The  children  broke  it,  ringing 
of  it,  the  same  day  the  lightning-rod  man  put 
it  in.  For  my  part  I  was  glad,  too,  when  it 
was  finally  broke,  for  such  a  din  as  they  kep* 
up  with  it  you  never  did  hear.  I  told  him 
though  that  he  'd  oughter  mend  it,  but  somehow 
he  haint  seemed  to  git  round  to  it." 

Mrs.  Simeon  Butterfield  is  an  ample  woman. 
As  she  often  declared  herself:  "  There  was  n't 
no  skimpin'  when  the  Lord  made  me."  She  is 
tall,  long-limbed,  broad-chested,  and  generously 
cushioned  with  flesh,  although  she  is  not  fat. 
Not  even  her  limp  and  loose-hanging  calico 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


103 


wrapper  could  conceal  the  really  fine  and  Juno- 
esque  lines  of  her  figure.  Her  hair,  which  is 
abundant  and  of  warm,  new  mahogany  color, 
has  the  true  classic  wave ;  and  her  throat,  which 
is  always  collarless,  is  as  white,  round,  and  full 
as  if  cut  from  marble. 

"  I  wish  ye  would  come  in  now,"  she  still 
urged.  "  I  can  give  ye  some  nice  maple-honey 
that  I  Ve  kep  ever  scnce  March.  Wai,  o'  course 
I  don't  want  to  urge  ye,  but  you  jest  wait  a 
minute.  You  must  take  a  box  o'  bee-honey 
along  to  your  par.  Sim  !  " 

She  had  removed  her  sun-bonnet,  and  in  so 
doing  had  brought  her  hair  entirely  down.  She 
was  now  twisting  it  up,  holding  her  horn 
"  tucking  comb  "  in  her  teeth  for  convenience' 
sake. 

"  That  Sim  Buttcrfield,"  she  said,  "  is  the 
beatermost  for  bein'  out'n  the  way  when  he  's 
wanted.  I  s'pose  he  's  down  to  the  meddcr  lot 
now,  sludgin'  round  doin'  nothin'." 


104 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


She  smiled  placidly  as  she  spoke,  and  did  not 
appear  to  cherish  any  animosity  toward  her 
husband  for  his  idleness.  She  disappeared  for 
a  few  moments,  and  presently  returned  and 
brought  to  the  carriage  a  gorgeous  bunch  of 
peacock's  feathers. 

"  I  ben  up  in  the  shed  chamber,"  she  said 
pantingly,  "  after  that  bee-honey,  an'  I  declare 
to  goodness  ef  every  drop  of  et  haint  ben  eat 
up.  I  feel  real  mortified.  You  see  the  lock  to 
the  cupboard  was  broke  a  spell  ago,  an'  he 
haint  got  round  yit  to  mendin'  of  it,  so  I  s'pose 
them  young  ones  hev  eat  it  up.  Howsomever, 
I  found  these  feathers  that  I  'd  put  by  for  ye. 
You  remember  our  old  peacock,  '  Jim,'  don't  ye? 
You  used  to  set  such  store  by  him  when  you 
was  little  an'  used  to  come  up  with  your  par. 
I  alwers  meant  you  should  have  the  feathers 
when  Jim  was  done  with  'em,  an'  old  Jim  he 
died  last  winter.  Here !  shoo,  ye  old  critter. 
Don't  ye  —  " 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


105 


Here  Mrs.  Buttcrfield  started  suddenly  across 
the  yard  to  head  a  festive  young  heifer  from  the 
corn-field,  toward  which  she  was  wooed  by  a 
tempting  gap  in  the  wall ;  and  Jane  Savage  at 
the  same  moment  concluded  that  the  visit  was 
at  an  end,  and  started  quietly  down  the  pasture. 

"  Our  round  is  ended  now,"  I  announced. 
"  Now  that  dreadful  horse  may  go  home  again." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  responded ;  "  I  was  getting 
to  feel  quite  like  a  country  doctor.  Do  you 
think  I  would  make  a  good  one?" 

"  No,"  I  answered,  with  thoughtless  quickness. 
"  You  arc  too  obstinate,  and  would  insist  upon 
going  to  the  front  doors." 

"  You  are  always  ready  to  see  the  worst  side 
of  me,"  he  retorted  gruffly. 

And  then  he  sulked  all  the  way  home. 


IO6  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


VIII. 

WHAT   BETTY   SAYS. 

"  LUCRETIA  !  "  I  called  shrilly,  "  Lucrctia  !  " 

Nobody  answered.  The  tall  clock  ticked  with 
heavy  solemnity.  The  flies  buzzed  and  droned 
on  the  warm,  square  patch  of  sunlight  that  lay 
on  the  hall  floor,  and  a  little  ruby-throated 
humming-bird  made  whirring  darts  at  the  white 
bells  of  Aunt  Jane's  abutilon,  which  stood  in  a 
green  tub  on  the  piazza. 

I  turned  to  my  companion,  who  stood  leaning 
against  the  side  of  the  doorway. 

"  You  see  there  is  nobody  at  home,"  I  said, 
"just  as  I  told  you.  Aunt  Jane  is  gone  to 
carry  wheat  wafers  and  elderberry  wine  to 
Mrs.  Lovel,  Lucrctia  is  making  calls,  and 
Bobby  has  gone  fishing,  so  there  's  nobody  at 
home." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Id/ 


At  the  sound  of  my  voice,  and  as  if  to  dispute 
the  truth  of  what  I  said,  Ned  appeared  at  the 
parlor  door,  and  after  standing  a  minute  with 
silky  cars  thrown  forward  and  his  lips  apart, 
showing  his  small  white  teeth,  decided  upon 
the  whole  to  be  extravagantly  glad  to  see  Mr. 
Hamlin,  and  accordingly  pranced  toward  him 
with  a  boisterous  welcome  which  consisted 
chiefly  in  pretending  to  eat  him  up. 

"  We  might  go  to  the  orchard,"  I  suggested, 
when  Ned's  raptures  had  subsided.  "  I  was 
there  when  you  rang  the  door-bell.  It  is  cool 
under  the  trees." 

Mr.  Hamlin.  agreeing  to  this  with  the  air  of 
its  not  making  much  difference  what  he  did 
as  long  as  Lucretia  was  away,  we  went  to  the 
orchard,  with  Ned  tumbling  along  ahead  of  us, 
now  and  then  stopping  to  throw  us  a  saucy 
backward  glance,  and  then  starting  again  with 
a  sudden  flounce  which  made  his  long  cars  fly 
out  like  wings. 


I08  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

Mn  Hamlin  seated  himself  on  the  old  bench 
under  the  seek-no-further  tree,  and  began  to 
sharpen  a  pencil. 

"  I  'm  going  to  sketch  your  fine  old  well- 
sweep,  by  your  leave,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Hamlin  is  very  good-looking  for  so  old 
a  man.  He  has  a  remarkably  straight  nose, 
and  honest  eyes  that  look  squarely  at  you 
when  he  speaks.  His  hair  is  really  grayer  than 
Father's,  but  it  is  cut  so  closely  that  you  can 
hardly  see  that  he  has  any  hair  at  all.  Bob 
and  I  like  him  very  well.  You  seem  to  get 
very  friendly  with  a  man  who  is  attentive  to 
your  sister.  After  I  had  finished  looking  at 
Mr.  Hamlin  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  bees, 
who  were  rejoicing  in  the  warm  afternoon  and 
the  fields  of  clover. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  fishing  with  Bob?" 
asked  Mr.  Hamlin  after  a  time,  without  looking 
up  from  his  sketching. 

"  Because  he  was  going  across  the  marsh  and 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


would  n't  take  me,"  I  answered,  teasing  Ned  by 
pulling  away  the  small  green  apple  he  was 
guarding. 

"  Who  did  go  with  him  —  Fred  Harris?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  rather  crossly,  "  Fred  Harris. 
Bob  seems  perfectly  happy  if  he  can  only  get 
Fred  Harris,  and  Fred  always  scares  away  the 
fish." 

Mr.  Hamlin  touched  up  his  sketch  and  tipped 
his  head  a  little  to  look  at  it. 

"You're  not  jealous  of  Fred,  I  suppose?" 
he  laughed. 

"  Why,  of  course  not,"  said  I ;  "it  is  only  that 
I  like  to  go  with  Bob,  and  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  this  is  our  last  real  boy-and-girl  summer 
together.  Bobby  goes  to  college  in  the  fall, 
you  know,  and  things  will  never  be  the  same 
again.  Lucretia  is  going  away  in  the  fall, 
too ;  she  is  invited  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Boston ;  and  Josephine  and  Ted  will  be  in 
New  York.  I  shall  be  left  all  alone  with  dear 
old  Neddy." 


IIO  A    WOODLAND    WOOIATG. 

"  I  shall  be  in  Mexico,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin. 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  go  so  far?  "  I  asked 
bluntly. 

"  Honor  calls,  I  must  obey,"  he  said ;  "  or 
rather,  a  good  salary  calls,  and  I  am  a  poor 
man,  so  I  fly  to  fill  a  position  on  the  Mexico 
and  El  Paso  Railway." 

"  Bob  and  I  are  going  to  Mexico,"  I  an 
nounced,  "after  he  graduates.  We  are  going  to 
have  a  big  hacienda.  Do  you  know  what  a 
hacienda  is?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Well,  we  're  going  to  have  one,  and  I  'm 
going  to  keep  house  for  Bob,  and  he  's  going 
to  lasso  wild  horses,  and  I  shall  write  a  book 
about  the  people." 

"  Perhaps  you  might  take  me  to  board," 
suggested  Mr.  Hamlin. 

"  Perhaps  we  will —  if  you  are  not  married." 

"Rooms  to  let  to  single  gentlemen  only?" 
laughed  he.  "  Well,  all  right  I  shall  not  be 
married." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Ill 


He  said  it  quite  positively;  and  it  occurred  to 
me  that  this  was  a  good  chance  to  free  my  mind 
of  something  that  I  wished  to  say  regarding 
Lucrctia.  I  could  see  plainly  that  Mr.  Hamlin 
was  already  rather  fond  of  Lucrctia,  though  of 
course  he 's  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  I 
might  have  been  willing  if  he  'd  been  settled  in 

o  c» 

New  York,  but  I  just  wanted  him  to  understand 
that  Lucrctia  was  far  too  dainty  and  pretty  to 
marry  a  man  who  would  take  her  to  Mexico. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  going  to  marry,"  I 
said  abruptly. 

"Why?"  asked  he,  looking  amused. 

"  Because,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  so  dreadfully 
selfish  for  a  man  to  ask  a  nice,  pretty,  accom 
plished  girl  to  leave  her  pleasant,  civilized  home, 
and  go  off  into  the  wilderness  with  him,  where 
she  can't  have  anybody  to  speak  to,  and 
Apaches  scalp  her,  and  howl  about  nights,  and 
everything  is  as  horrid  as  it  can  be." 

"  It  really  is  n't  a  very  charming  picture,"  he 


II2  A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 

said.     "It   is  just  as  well,  then,  that  I   do   not 
think  of  marrying,  is  n't  it?  " 

He  must  have  spoiled  his  sketch,  for  he 
twitched  out  the  leaf  he  was  drawing  on,  and 
crumpled  it  up  and  gave  it  to  Ned. 

"  Oh,"  I  cried,  "  I  wanted  to  see  it." 

"  It  was  no  good,"  he  said. 

Ned's  disposition  is  such  that  he  cannot 
usually  enjoy  anything  if  he  thinks  he  has  a 
right  to  do  so,  Mr.  Hamlin  pretended  to  try 
to  recover  the  paper;  and  the  spaniel  worried 
and  twitched  at  it  and  finally  raced  with  it 
around  the  corner  of  the  house,  whence  he  came 
instantly  tumbling  back  with  Bevis  Sparhawk. 

Behind  Bevis  came  his  mother,  under  a  huge 
parasol  of  black  lace  and  satin. 

"  I  Ve  been  ringing  at  your  nasty  bell  for 
ages,"  she  called  out  cheerfully.  "  Where  is 
your  remarkable  maid?" 

She  sat  down  in  Father's  steamer  chair,  closed 
her  sunshade,  put  up  her  eyeglasses,  and  began 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


to  wave  a  beautiful  fan  of  black  ostrich  plumes. 
She  was  dressed  entirely  in  black,  —  thin,  deli 
cate  black,  unrelieved  by  any  touch  of  color. 
She  looked  very  elegant,  and  made  me  all  at 
once  conscious  of  being  very  young  and  having 
a  frowzly  head  and  a  tumbled  gown. 

"  For  my  part,"  declared  Mr.  Hamlin,  "  I 
don't  believe  they  really  have  any  maid.  I 
might  be  ringing  there  still  if  Miss  Betty  had 
not  heard  me  from  some  far-off  hammock  and 
come  to  my  rescue." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  seriously, 
"  they  really  have  a  maid,  I  assure  you,  and  a 
charmingly  unique  one,  too;  so  delightfully 
grim,  a  perfect  martinet,  and  the  way  in  which 
she  bullies  the  family  is  perfectly  delicious." 

"  She  came  sixteen  years  ago  when  mother 
died,"  I  ventured.  "  Bobby  and  I  were  only 
babies  then,  and  she  has  done  everything  for 
us,  so  she  is  almost  like  one  of  the  family." 

"Which  means,  you  know,"  added  Mrs.  Spar- 
8 


114 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


hawk,  "  that  she  dares  to  give  her  opinion  upon 
all  occasions,  and  say  quite  as  nasty  things  as 
one's  relatives  would.  She  is  not  a  servant  at 
all,  you  know,  but  a  person  of  importance  with 
money  in  the  Canal  Bank  and  stock  in  the 
Grand  Trunk  Railway,  She  always  attires  her 
self  in  all  her  Sunday  awfulness  of  array,  and 
takes  a  free  ride  to  Portland  on  stockholders' 
day !  " 

It  is  one  of  the  curious  things  about  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  that  she  always  unconsciously  takes 
things  into  her  own  hands.  I  had  thought  that 
I  was  doing  very  well  at  entertaining  Mr.  Ham- 
lin,  but  now  I  suddenly  found  Mrs.  Sparhawk 
acting  the  part  of  the  gracious  hostess,  while  I 
sat  meekly  by  and  allowed  her  to  describe 
Harriet,  who  had  lived  with  us  for  years,  and 
whom  she  probably  never  saw  more  than  half 
a  dozen  times.  I  felt  like  a  guest  in  our  own 
orchard,  and  a  very  unimportant  guest  at  that. 

"  I  'm  doin'  wis  you,  too,"  announced  Bevis, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


who  had  been  for  some  time  trying  to  get  a 
chance  to  speak. 

"  Now,  Bevis  Sparhawk,"  said  his  mother, 
"didn't  I  tell  you  that  you  were  not  to  talk? 
That  is  why  I  abominate  making  visits  with 
children,"  she  added,  turning  to  Mr.  Hamlin; 
"  they  always  want  to  talk,  and  one  wants  to  do 
the  talking  one's  self,  don't  you  know,  and  so  of 
course  — 

"  I  'm  a  doin'  wis  you,  too/'  repeated  Bevis, 
shrilly,  trying  to  drown  his  mother's  voice ;  "  me 
and  Wodney,  and  little  black  Sam,  and  mammy 
an'  —  an'  — 

"  No,  you  will  not,  you  tiresome  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Sparhawk,  "  unless  you  behave  yourself 
and  stop  interrupting." 

"  You  did  it  you'sef,"  said  the  warlike  Bevis ; 
"you  'poke  an'  'poke  when  I  was  a-'pcakin'." 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  she,  turning  to  us,  and 
ignoring  her  son's  remark,  "that  is  the  very 
reason  that  I  called  to-day.  I  wanted  to  ask 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


your  father  and  your  sister  what  they  would 
say  to  our  taking  the  children." 

"Where?     To  Sippican  !  "   I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  cheerfully,  "  to  Sippican. 
Now,  pray  do  not  credit  me  with  making  such 
a  diabolical  plan  ;  it  was  all  the  Colonel,  I  assure 
you.  He  positively  adores  those  children,  don't 
you  know.  He  absolutely  cannot  be  happy 
without  them.  Now,  I  am  different.  Of  course, 
I  worship  the  children,  simply  idolize  them,  you 
know;  but  then  I'm  philosophical,  and  I  can 
endure  life  for  a  week  or  two  without  them;  but 
the  Colonel  is  set  upon  their  going." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  very  jolly  indeed,"  said 
Mr.  Hamlin.  "  I  dare  say  the  change  would  be 
for  their  health." 

"  Heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  de 
voutly,  "  I  hope  not,  I  'm  sure.  They  are  fright 
fully  healthy  already,  and  they  eat  like  a  swarm 
of  grasshoppers.  Seriously,  I  Ve  had  thoughts 
of  dosing  them  with  sulphur,  or  making  them 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


117 


learn  hymns,  or  something  nasty,  just  to  tone 
down  their  spirits.  —  Bevis  Sparhawk,  you  cruel 
child,  stop  pulling  that  poor  dog's  cars,  or  I  '11 
feed  you  on  gunpowder." 

"  Then,"  returned  the  unmoved  Bevis,  strug 
gling  with  Ned  for  a  bit  of  bone,  "  I  shall  be  a 
gun,  and  dead  you.  I  want  sumpin'  to  cat." 

"  How  is  your  uncle's  health  now,  Mr.  Ham- 
lin?"  asked  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  suddenly  abandon 
ing  Bevis.  "  Me  was  such  a  delightful  old 
gentleman.  They  make  one  feel  so  young  and 
blooming,  don't  you  know?  Your  uncle  was 
quite  one  of  the  old  school." 

It  seemed  to  me  somehow  that  Mr.  Ilamlin 
was  not  particularly  interested  in  his  uncle,  and 
it  also  seemed  that  Mrs.  Sparhawk  was  so  much 
interested  in  him  that  I  rather  doubted  her 
having  called  about  the  children.  Perhaps  I 
was  suspicious,  but  I  could  not  help  fancying 
that  she  had  seen  Mr.  Ilamlin  over  the  hedge 
and  had  come  in  on  purpose  to  talk  to  him. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  I  want  sumpin'  to  eat,"  said  Bevis  once 
more. 

"  No,  you  do  not,  you  ill-bred  child,"  said  his 
mother.  "  Does  your  uncle  still  keep  bach 
elor's  hall  in  that  exquisite  house  of  his  in 
Baltimore?  " 

"  I  will  have  sumpin'  to  eat,"  insisted  Bevis. 

"  Bevis  Sparhawk,  you  will  not  have  one 
crumb  to  eat.  —  No,  Miss  Betty,  thank  you,  not 
a  crumb.  —  If  you  say  one  more  word  about  it 
I  shall  take  you  home  and  shut  you  up  in  the 
rabbit  hutch.  —  I  was  at  the  Carrollton,"  con 
tinued  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  blandly,  "  and  mamma 
was  with  me.  She  was  alarmingly  ill,  and  — 
Oh,  Miss  Betty,  if  you  would  give  that  de 
testable  child  a  cake,  I  should  adore  you 
forever." 

Upon  this  Bevis  and  I  departed  for  the  house. 
We  found  that  Aunt  Jane  had  returned  from  her 
visit,  and  she  was  so  delighted  at  a  chance  to 
bestow  dainties  that  she  overwhelmed  the  joyous 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


Bcvis  with  seed-cakes  and  her  choicest  sugared 
cherries. 

Lucrctia  came  in,  too,  drawing  off  her  pretty 
pearl-gray  gloves. 

"  I  made  nine  calls,"  she  said  complacently. 

"  You  must  have  had  very  good  luck  in  find 
ing  them  out,"  said  I,  enviously. 

"  I  really  think,"  fluttered  Aunt  Jane,  "  that 
we  ought  to  offer  some  refreshments.  Lucretia, 
go  out  to  your  company.  Betty  can  stay  and 
help  me." 

After  Mrs.  Sparhawk  and  Mr.  Hamlin  had 
partaken  of  pound  cakes  and  Russian  tea  and 
departed,  Ned  came  rushing  by  me,  trying  to 
make  me  take  away  from  him  a  crumpled  bit 
of  paper.  It  was  all  that  was  left  of  Mr.  Ham 
lin' s  sketch.  If  it  was  the  well-sweep,  it  had  a 
hat  on.  If  he  was  making  a  picture  of  Lucretia, 
why  could  n't  he  have  been  honest  about  it,  and 
said  so?  I'm  sure  I  should  have  liked  to  sec 
it  myself. 


12Q  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


IX. 

WHAT  BOB   SAYS. 

I  WAS  over  in  the  little  north  lot  yesterday, 
trying  to  find  some  squirrels  or  something  else 
to  shoot.  I  was  all  alone. 

It  was  about  noon  and  blazing  hot,  and  along 
the  walls,  somewhere  behind  the  blackberry 
bushes,  a  quail  was  whistling  "  more  wet." 
Every  time  the  quail  whistled  Ned  would  make 
a  crazy  dash,  barking  loud  enough  to  scare 
away  every  bird  in  America.  Betty  has  just 
ruined  Ned  for  a  bird  dog,  anyway.  Women 
always  spoil  a  dog.  I  had  n't  shot  a  thing  the 
whole  morning,  and  was  lying  down  under  a 
jolly  big  birch-tree  to  cool  off  and  rest  a  bit 
before  starting  for  home,  when  all  of  a  sudden 
Ned  jumped  up,  ran  a  few  steps,  stopped,  threw 
his  ears  forward,  and  said  "  Woof  !  "  The  next 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


121 


second  I  heard  an  awful  howl,  and  running  to 
the  open  field  found  Rodney  Sparhawk  dancing 
about  like  a  young  lunatic,  and  shrieking  that 
Bevis  was  drowned  and  "  all  dcaded." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  I,  rushing  for  him. 

"  In  the  river  all  deaded  up,"   said   Rodney. 

It  isn't  a  river,  it  is  only  a  shallow  brook; 
but  sure  enough,  Bcvis  Sparhawk  was  in  it, 
sitting  on  the  stony  bottom  and  howling  away 
like  a  young  Pawnee.  He  was  so  sure  he  was 
going  to  drown  that  he  had  n't  tried  to  help 
himself  at  all.  I  picked  him  out,  and  he  said 
he  was  sitting  on  a  stone  catching  "  minnies  " 
in  the  skirt  of  his  dress,  and  Rodney  had  pushed 
him  in.  Rodney  said  he  did  n't  do  it;  that  he 
was  only  trying  to  get  on  the  stone  with  Bevis. 
Anyhow,  the  two  little  beggars  were  wet  as 
polliwogs,  and  had  evidently  run  away;  so  I 
raced  them  back  home  with  me,  and  they  were 
nearly  dry  by  the  time  we  reached  the  village. 

When  we  came  to  the  house  we  found  doors 


122  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

and  windows  wide  open  as  usual,  and  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  was  in  the  parlor,  fainting  away  on 
a  sofa,  or  pretending  to,  and  saying  that  her 
darlings  were  dead,  and  she  should  never  see 
them  again.  The  Colonel  and  the  old  darky 
woman  were  fanning  her  and  trying  to  brace 
her  up. 

"  I  know  my  darlings  have  been  stolen,"  said 
she ;  "  I  shall  never  sec  them  any  more.  Oh,  my 
darlings,  my  babies  !  " 

"  Bevis  was  drownded,  but  he  's  a  great  deal 
better  now,"  said  Rodney,  bursting  in. 

"  I  taught  a  fiss  for  you,  but  his  tail  was  so 
slippy  he  swimmed  away,"  said  Bevis,  shrilly. 

Upon  this  they  all  made  a  rush  for  the  chil 
dren,  and  Mrs.  Sparhawk  sat  up  on  her  sofa. 
Of  course  I  was  backing  out  myself,  but  I 
heard  what  she  said. 

"  You  miserable  little  green  baboons  !  "  cried 
she,  "  how  dared  you  run  away  and  give  me 
such  a  fright  ?  I  shall  be  ill  from  the  shock, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


123 


I  Vc  no  doubt.  You  deserve  a  thorough  whip 
ping,  both  of  you,  you  nasty,  untidy  little 
pirates.  I  'm  sure,  Colonel,  I  hope  you  are 
proud  of  your  children  now  !  " 

Just  then  unluckily  she  caught  sight  of  me, 
and  so  she  said  no  end  of  silly  things. 

"  You  must  stay  and  tell  me  all  about  it, 
and  have  some  coffee,"  said  she ;  and  it  was 
no  use  for  a  fellow  to  say  there  was  nothing 
to  tell,  because  she  seemed  to  have  made 
her  mind  up  to  make  me  stay.  She  sent  the 
black  woman  off  for  coffee,  and  the  children 
off  to  bed ;  but  I  think  they  only  had  dry 
clothes  on;  at  any  rate,  they  were  eating 
cookies  on  the  front  steps  when  I  went  out  a 
little  later. 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  sat  down  and  began  to  fan 
herself. 

"  It  is  exactly  like  those  nasty  little  apes  to 
go  and  drown  themselves  on  a  day  when  I  am 
expecting  company,"  said  she.  "  Limkin,  I 


124 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


think  you  may  give  me  a  soupqon  of  cognac  in 
my  coffee,  my  nerves  are  so  shattered." 

One  good  thing  about  Mrs.  Sparhawk  is  that 
she  treats  a  fellow  with  some  respect.  She 
does  n't  call  me  "  Bobby  "  and  act  as  if  I  'd  no 
right  to  be  about  anyhow. 

After  the  coffee  came,  the  Colonel  excused 
himself  and  took  his  cup  up  in  his  studio ;  and 
Mrs.  Sparhawk  poured  my  cup  twice  as  strong 
as  Aunt  Jane  ever  gives  it  to  me.  There  were 
little  crackers,  too,  and  a  crimson  cheese  that 
Mrs.  Sparhawk  dug  pieces  out  of  with  a  little 
silver  spa'de.  She  did  put  a  spoonful  of  brandy 
in  her  coffee,  though  she  made  fun  of  herself 
for  doing  it,  and  said  one  learned  bad  tricks 
in  the  army. 

She  was  talking  about  fishing,  and  she  asked 
me  if  she  did  not  see  me  one  morning  coming 
back  with  Mr.  Hamlin.  So  I  told  her  "  yes," 
and  how  many  we  caught;  and  she  seemed  to 
take  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  Hamlin,  and 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


125 


asked  me  no  end  of  questions  about  him ;  but 
of  course  I  don't  know  much  about  him;  so 
then  she  began  to  tell  me  about  her  company,— 
a  city  girl  that  she  has  sent  for.  She  said  she 
wanted  us  all  to  be  very  polite  to  her,  but  I 
think  myself  it  is  too  great  a  pity  she  's  coming, 
because  we  were  just  a  nice  party  before.  But 
of  course  I  did  n't  tell  Mrs.  Sparhawk  so,  and 
after  a  while  she  let  me  go. 

I  can't  write  any  more  now  because  Fred  is 
standing  outside  throwing  his  baseball  up  at  the 
window,  and  he  '11  plug  it  through  a  pane  of 
glass  in  a  minute  if  I  don't  go  and  stop  him. 


I26  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


X. 

WHAT   BETTY   SAYS. 

MY  pretty  Lucrctia  came  tripping  down 
the  stairs,  and  stopped  a  minute  at  the  parlor 
door. 

"Why,  Betty  Grecnleaf!"  said  she,  "  arc  n't 
you  ready  for  Sabbath-school  ?  " 

"  She  cannot  go,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  with  plain 
tive  severity;  "she  must  needs  go  to  meddling 
with  Robert's  tools — and  on  a  Sunday  too  — 
and  she  has  cut  her  hand  with  the  screw 
driver." 

"  She  was  fixing  a  nail  in  her  shoe,"  spoke 
Bob,  in  friendly  defence ;  "  but  then  she  was  a 
gump  to  let  the  screw-driver  slip,  —  just  like  a 
girl." 

"  At  any  rate  I  cannot  go  to  Sunday-school, 
Lucretia,"  said  I,  being  at  length  allowed  to 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


127 


speak  a  word   for  myself.     "  You  can    sec   that 
I   cannot   get   a   glove   on." 

Lucretia's  smooth  white  forehead  drew  itself 
into  a  frown. 

"  I  do  hate  to  go  alone,  Betty,"  she  said  for 
lornly;  "I  never  like  to  go  alone  to  Sunday- 
school." 

She  looked  very  pretty  in  her  crisp  summer 
bravery.  She  was  dainty  and  exquisite  from 
bonnet  to  boot,  and  I  could  n't  help  hoping 
that  Mr.  Hamlin  might  somehow  chance  to 
sec  her. 

"  You  will  be  late,  Lucretia,  if  you  do  not  go 
at  once,"  said  Aunt  Jane;  "  Sister  Buzzell  went 
by  some  time  ago,  and  you  know  she  is  usually 
tardy." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  must  go,"  said  Lucretia, 
dubiously. 

She  gathered  up  her  pretty  lilac  muslin,  un 
furled  her  sun-umbrella,  and  reluctantly  stepped 
forth  into  the  blazing  afternoon.  It  was  two 


I28  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

o'clock.  The  house  was  so  quiet  that  one  could 
hear  the  solemn  tick  of  the  entry  timepiece  and 
the  rustle  of  the  pages  of  Bob's  book.  Father 
was  asleep  on  the  old  lounge  in  the  front  entry, 
with  a  red  bandanna  laid  over  his  face.  Harriet 
Tuell  had  gone  to  a  baptism  at  Stony  Brook. 
Bob  was  reading  "  Scottish  Chiefs  "  for  the 
fortieth  time.  He  was  lying  face  downward 
upon  the  wide  old  couch ;  his  chin  rested  in 
his  hands,  and  his  right  foot  dangled  uncom 
fortably  to  the  floor.  Aunt  Jane  sat  by  a  south 
window.  She  wore  her  best  black  gown  be 
cause  it  was  Sunday,  and  she  had  a  bunch  of 
her  favorite  mignonette  in  a  glass  on  the  sill 
beside  her.  She  was  reading  a  little  book 
called  "Why  Am  I  a  Universalist;  "  and  she 
looked,  as  she  always  does,  very  much  like  a 
little  white  mouse  that  Bobby  and  I  once  had.  j 
Everybody  seemed  to  be  content  and  occupied 
except  myself.  I  was  not  sleepy,  and  I  had 
nothing1  to  read. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


129 


"  I  say,  Betty,"  said  Bob,  "  let  up  rapping 
on  the  window,  will  you  ?  " 

I  stopped  obediently.  A  humming-bird  came 
to  call  upon  the  white  abutilon,  and  uttered 
fine,  fairy-like  cries  of  rapture  as  it  darted  at 
the  golden-hearted  bells.  Ned  appeared  round 
the  corner  quietly,  and  having  deposited  upon  the 
front  steps  a  particularly  disreputable  shoe, 
gazed  at  it  a  moment  admiringly  and  departed 
with  a  satisfied  air  of  duty  done.  The  sight  of 
the  clog  and  the  cheering  sound  of  a  little  breeze 
inspired  me. 

"  Let 's  go  to  the  old  grave-yard,  Bob,"  I 
whispered,  glancing  toward  Aunt  Jane,  who 
had  placidly  gone  to  sleep  without  discovering 
why  she  was  a  Universalist. 

"  Not  now,"  replied  Bob,  rather  crossly,  "  I'm 
reading.  Get  something  to  do,  Betty,  can't 
you,  and  let  a  fellow  alone." 

Being  snubbed  by  my  chief  all}-,  I  tiptoed 
after  my  hat,  called  Ned,  and  started  forth  on 


130 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


the  only  correct  and  orthodox  Sunday  walk  for 
Arrowsic  folk,  —  that  to  the  old  grave-yard. 

Down  the  village  street  we  went  together, 
Ned  walking  sedately  for  the  space  of  a  mo 
ment,  then  rushing  ahead  with  wildly  flying 
ears,  and  stopping  short  to  wait  for  me  with 
a  look  of  irresistible  waggishness.  We  went 
through  a  gate,  unpainted  and  rusty-hinged, 
into  a  lane  bordered  by  stone  walls  and  rough 
with  grass-grown  ruts ;  then  through  an  ancient 
stile  and  into  the  sunny,  peaceful  precincts  of 
the  old  cemetery.  Usually  this  is  quite  a 
lively  place  of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  with  rustic 
lovers  and  pairs  of  chattering  girls;  but  yester 
day  the  superior  attractions  of  the  immersion 
at  Stony  Brook  had  left  the  old  grave-yard 
empty,  and  Ned  and  I  had  it  quite  to  ourselves 
for  a  time.  Ned  settled  down  to  a  season  of 
solid  enjoyment  in  chasing  white  and  yellow 
butterflies.  I  sat  upon  the  dry,  warm  grass, 
smoothed  out  my  gown,  folded  my  hands,  and 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


enjoyed  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  lovely 
summer  afternoon. 

After  a  time  Ned  grew  tired  and  went  to 
sleep,  with  his  muzzle  resting  on  his  silky 
brown  paws.  I  was  almost  asleep  myself,  I 
think,  the  bees  sounded  so  far  away,  when 
somebody  spoke  behind  me  and  made  me 
jump. 

"  Can  you  inform  me  how  long  an  Arrowsic 
Sunday  usually  is?"  said  a  voice,  and  Mr. 
Hamlin  in  a  very  nice  gray  suit  came  down 
and  faced  me. 

He  held  his  cane  in  both  hands  horizontally 
behind  him,  and  looked  good-natured  but  rather 
tired. 

"  They  are  years  long,"  I  answered,  "  unless 
Bob  happens  to  be  good-natured ;  then  they 
are  shorter." 

"And  if  you  happened  not  to  have  any 
Bob?"  he  asked. 

"  Then  I  should  die"  I  replied  seriously. 


132 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  People  do  not,  unfortunately,  find  it  so  easy 
to  die,"  said  he.  "  May  I  sit  down?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can  if  you  want  to,"  I  said, 
not  very  politely,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  mind. 

He  put  down  his  cane  and  took  off  his  round 
straw  hat.  I  always  look  at  his  hair  with  sur 
prise,  it  is  so  gray.  I  did  not  realize  that  I  was 
staring  very  rudely  until  he  looked  up  and  asked 
if  his  hair  was  in  disorder. 

"  It  could  n't  be,"  I  said,  laughing,  "  it  is  too 
short.  I  was  wondering  how  it  could  be  so  gray 
when  — 

"  When  I  am  so  young  and  fair?  "  he  finished 
seriously.  "  My  mother  was  white-haired  at 
seventeen." 

"  Mrs.  Sparhawk,"  I  volunteered,  "  had  her 
hair  bleached  in  Paris.  When  she  first  came 
here  to  live  it  was  quite  blond,  like  Lucrctia's." 

"  It  must  have  been  atrociously  unbecoming." 

"  On  the  contrary,  she  looked  well  with  it, 
and  she  explained  to  every  lady  quite  openly 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


133 


how  it  was  done.  I  like  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  she  is 
so  very  amusing.  We  Arrowsic  people  are  not 
at  all  amusing.  We  are  well-behaved  and  dull." 

"  Cannot  one  be  well-behaved,  then,  and 
amusing,  too?"  asked  Mr.  Hamlin,  taking  out 
his  sketching  book,  which  seemed  to  be  his 
constant  companion. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said  doubtfully ;  "  there  is 
Aunt  Jane,  and  Harriet,  —  though  to  be  sure 
Harriet  is  amusing,  but  she  docs  n't  mean 
to  be.  Mrs.  Sparhawk  means  to  be,  and  she 
told  Lucretia  that  she  was  interested  in  you 
on  account  of  your  uncle." 

Mr.  Hamlin  put  on  his  glasses,  which  at  once 
transformed  him  from  a  pleasant  and  cheerful 
young  man  to  a  supercilious  and  cynical  person 
ten  years  beyond  his  usual  age. 

"  She  makes  a  sad  mistake,"  he  said  rather 
gently,  "  if  she  adopts  me  on  his  account.  She 
would  please  him  much  better  by  sending  me  to 
Coventry  at  once  without  delay." 


134 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


For  some  minutes  he  sat  silent,  drawing  an 
outline  of  the  long  range  of  the  White  Hills, 
which  loomed  large  and  hazy  against  the  sum 
mer  sky.  Presently  his  face  changed,  and  he 
looked  up  with  a  cheerful  smile. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  care,"  he  said, 
"  but  somehow  I  do  whenever  I  remember  it. 
Come,  Miss  Betty,  shall  I  tell  you  the  strange 
history  of  the  '  Boy  who  would  not  study 
Greek'?" 

"  If  you  will,"  I  answered ;  "  I  am  fond  of 
stories." 

"  This  is  rather  a  stupid  one ;  however,  I 
believe  I  will  bore  you  with  it.  As  Hans  Ander 
sen  says,  '  Now  listen.'  There  was  once  a  good 
little  boy  —  " 

"Good?"  I  queried. 

"  Very  good.  Do  not  be  sceptical,  Miss 
Betty,  and  do  not  interrupt.  It  is  rude  in  the 
extreme.  There  was  once,  then,  a  very  good 
little  boy,  who  lived  in  a  house  in  the  city  of 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


135 


Baltimore,  all  alone  with  his  widowed  mother 
and  his  uncle.  The  mother  was  a  placid,  gentle 
little  soul,  who  was  fond  of  old  lace,  lived  upon 
macaroons,  and  painted  butterflies  on  rice  paper 
for  occupation.  The  uncle  was  a  queer  old 
stick,  —  rich,  but  irascible.  Do  you  know  what 
'  irascible  '  means?  " 

"  Of  course,"  I  replied  indignantly. 

"  Very  well.  The  uncle,  then,  was  rich,  but 
irascible,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  blustering 
about  like  the  regulation  old  stage  tyrant,  and 
boasting  that  he  would  be  master  in  his  own 
house ;  that  his  '  will  was  law,'  or  words  to  that 
effect.  Well,  the  boy  went  to  school,  of  course, 
and  was  fitting  for  the  classical  course  in  the 
college  where  his  father  had  gone,  and  his  uncle, 
and  all  his  grandfathers  for  generations  back. 
He  had  got  as  far  in  Latin  as  '  Anna  virumque 
cano]  and  was  grubbing  away  sullenly  at  Greek 
roots,  when  all  of  a  sudden,  one  day,  it  popped 
into  his  head  that  there  was  really  no  sort  of 


136 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


reason  in  his  wasting  his  time  over  anything 
that  he  detested  so  cordially." 

"  He  was  a  conceited  little  boy,"  I  said  de 
cidedly,  "  to  think  that  he  could  judge  of  what 
he  ought  to  study.  I  'm  glad  you  're  not  telling 
this  mutinous  story  to  Bob." 

"  I  will  tell  it  to  Bob  if  you  interrupt  me,  Miss 
Betty.  Well,  so  the  boy  simply  did  not  learn 
any  Greek  lesson  that  day,  and  when  he  was 
called  up  to  recite,  announced  that  he  had 
stopped  studying  Greek.  The  master,  with 
some  interest,  inquired  when  he  had  stopped, 
and  the  boy  replied,  '  About  half  an  hour  ago.'  " 

"  What  a  horrid,  impertinent  boy  !  " 

"  Now  I  shall  tell  Bob.  However,  the  master 
agreed  with  you,  and,  finding  that  his  own  re 
marks  did  not  make  much  impression,  proceeded 
to  go  and  break  the  news  to  the  uncle.  Then 
the  uncle  ranted  about  in  gorgeous  style,  as 
you  may  imagine ;  for  you  see  the  trouble  was 
that,  although  the  uncle  was  the  boy's  legal 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


137 


guardian,  there  was  a  certain  clause  in  the  will 
which  directed  that  after  he  was  fifteen  years 
old  he  should  be  allowed  to  choose  his  own 
profession.  '  You  '11  never  make  a  lawyer  unless 
you  study  Greek,  sir  !  '  said  the  uncle.  The  boy 
replied  that  he  did  n't  intend  to  be  a  lawyer,  but 
a  civil  engineer.  At  this  time  there  was  a  worse 
row  than  ever.  Even  the  little  mother  joined 
the  charge,  and  cried,  and  asked  the  boy  if 
he  'wanted  to  disgrace  the  family  and  break 
his  mother's  heart,  and  grow  up  and  be  hung. 
There  had  been  a  lawyer  in  every  generation, 
and  now  he  was  going  to  break  the  line  and 
ruin  his  father's  good  name.'  But  the  boy  was 
a  stubborn  cub,  and  the  upshot  of  the  whole 
thing  was  that  the  uncle  flew  into  a  white  rage. 
He  was  obliged  to  send  the  boy  to  an  Institute 
of  Technology,  but  he  never  spoke  to  him  again, 
not  even  when  the  mother  died ;  and  for  six 
years  the  two  men  have  never  met." 

"  How   dreadful !  "    I    said,   as    Mr.   Hamlin, 


138 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


having  finished  his  tale,  began  to  sharpen  his 
lead  pencil. 

"  Not  so  very  dreadful,"  he  replied  coolly. 
"  He  is,  to  be  sure,  my  only  living  relative,  but 
he  is  happy  in  his  way,  and  I  in  mine.  He  has, 
or  thinks  he  has,  the  best  collection  of  old 
lacquer  in  the  world ;  and  I  have  my  profes 
sion  and  some  good  friends;  so  what  docs  it 
matter?" 

"  But  he  is  your  father's  brother,"  I  urged. 
"  I  should  go  to  see  him  sometime." 

"  And  be  accused,  as  I  was  once  by  letter,  of 
having  an  eye  to  his  money.  No,  I  thank  you." 

"  I  say,"  said  a  voice  behind  us,  "  Father  is 
called  to  the  Hollow,  and  we  're  having  an  early 
tea ;  and  you  'd  better  come  home,  Betty  Green- 
leaf,  if  you  know  when  you  're  well  off." 

"  Don't  scold,"  laughed  Mr.  Hamlin,  putting 
away  his  sketch-book ;  "  we  refuse  to  feel  guilty. 
Why,  the  sun  is  an  hour  above  Mount  Kearsage 
yet." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


139 


XI. 

WHAT   BOB   SAYS. 

HERE  \ve  are,  safe  at  Camp  Sippican  at  last, 
though  I  really  began  to  think  that  we  never 
should  get  here.  First,  Bevis  Sparhawk  had  the 
mumps ;  then  Josephine's  mother  had  to  go  to 
Sweden  to  see  her  married  daughter;  and  then, 
just  as  we  were  all  ready  to  start,  it  began  to 
rain  cats  and  dogs,  and  never  let  up  a  minute 
for  a  whole  week.  But  at  last  it  managed  to 
clear  oft",  and  yesterday  morning  we  really  got 
started. 

There  was  Joel  Jackson  and  the  express 
wagon,  with  the  tents  and  Fred  and  me ;  we 
started  first  of  all,  for  the  rest  kept  forgetting 
things  and  going  back,  and  waiting  for  each 
other,  and  behaving  like  a  set  of  crazy  coots  gen 
erally.  The  Fosters'  beach  wagon  took  Hamlin 


140 


A   WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  Lucretia  and  Ted,  and  Amos  to  drive  the 
horses  back.  Then  the  Dudleys  came  in  their 
chaise,  and  Emily  squeezed  in  the  middle  of  the 
seat;  and  the  Winthrop  carryall  had  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Winthrop  and  Arthur  and  the  young  lady 
that  is  visiting  the  Sparhawks,  because  the  Spar- 
hawk  carriage  was  running  over  with  Rodney 
and  Bevis.  Betty  came  up  with  Father  in  his 
old  chaise.  I  thought  they  sort  of  left  her  out 
in  the  cold ;  but  I  suppose  there  was  n't  any 
room  for  her  in  the  Fosters'  wagon,  and  Betty 
seemed  to  be  as  cheerful  as  ever,  so  I  don't 
know  that  it  made  any  difference. 

We  got  there  first  of  all.  Fred  says  that  he  's 
always  taken  notice  that  horses  go  slower  when 
there  are  girls  in  the  carriage,  and  I  guess  it  is 
true.  At  any  rate,  we  got  to  Sippican  a  good 
hour  before  any  other  carriage  showed  up 
at  all. 

When  you  get  to  Sippican  you  see  a  hum- 
mocky  pasture  at  your  left,  and  just  beyond  the 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


141 


pasture  the  mountain  begins.  Then  on  the 
right  of  the  road  is  the  camping  ground,  —  a 
jolly  big  field  with  two  or  three  apple-trees  in 
one  end,  —  wild  fruit,  you  know,  no  good  to  eat, 
—  and  from  the  road  this  field  runs  down  to 
Sippican  Pond.  Sippican  is  an  old  Indian  name, 
you  know,  and  means  "  Clear  Water,"  and  so 
the  mountain  was  named  after  the  pond.  You 
could  n't  find  a  completer  camping  ground  in 
the  whole  country.  For  there  is  the  pond,  you 
see,  where  you  can  catch  jolly  pickerel,  and  then 
the  other  side  of  the  mountain  is  a  trout  brook, 
and  there  is  an  ice-cold  spring  in  the  woods 
near  by,  and  plenty  of  wood  to  burn,  so  you 
could  n't  find  a  better  place,  anyhow. 

Fred  and  I  helped  Joel  put  up  the  tents,  and 
of  course  the  rest  of  the  fellows  worked  when 
they  got  along.  We  have  good  board  floors 
all  ready  to  fit  right  together,  and  the  tents 
are  none  of  your  cheap  affairs,  but  regular  out- 
and-out  good  ones.  There  are  three  big  ones, 


142 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  a  smaller  one  that  we  call  the  galley,  only 
we  don't  cook  in  it  unless  it  is  a  pouring 
rain,  because  fish  smell  nicer  cooked  out  of 
doors. 

A  good  deal  depends  on  how  you  start,  in 
camping  out ;  and  we  know  just  how  to  fix  our 
tents.  We  make  the  floors  good  and  even,  and 
we  put  up  the  tents  as  strong  as  they  can  be 
fixed.  Of  course,  though,  we  always  go  about 
at  night  and  see  to  them  and  pound  down  the 
pins.  They  bring  rugs  for  the  floors,  and  ticks 
all  ready  to  be  filled  up  at  the  Burnham  farm 
house  with  nice  clean  straw.  We  keep  the 
horses  up  there,  too ;  the  ones  that  are  n't  sent 
home,  I  mean.  Of  course  we  did  n't  get  every 
thing  done  last  night,  but  we  got  all  the  tents 
built.  We  have  a  kerosene  stove,  but  I  think 
the  regular  camp-fire  is  jollier,  and  we  always 
have  that  lighted  in  the  evening,  anyway,  for 
company.  Of  course  last  night  we  had  our 
supper  off  the  things  we  brought  from  home. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Mrs.  \Vinthrop  is  head  cook,  and  Mr.  Winthrop 
and  Fred  and  I  helped. 

Mrs.  Dudley  and  Emily  and  Betty  set  the 
table.  We  had  cold  ham  and  bread  and  pickles 
and  doughnuts  and  cheese  and  apple-puffs  and 
hot  baked  potatoes  and  coffee,  and  a  heap  more 
things ;  and  you  can  believe  that  first  supper  just 
tasted  good,  though,  with  the  fire  blazing  away, 
and  the  loon  crying  over  the  water,  and  the  cool 
wind  coming  along  the  field,  and  Aunt  Jane  not 
there  to  say  that  a  fellow  stuck  his  elbows  out 
when  he  cut  his  ham. 


144 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


XII. 
WHAT   BETTY  SAYS. 

WITH  two  pillows,  a  bag,  a  blanket,  a  pair  of 
rubbers,  and  a  lantern,  I  crept  uncomfortably 
under  the  closed  fly  of  a  tent,  inside  of  which 
things  certainly  presented  an  appearance  which 
Harriet  would  have  scornfully  denounced  as 
"  mixed  an'  mingled."  I  had  been  sent  for 
various  necessary  and  unnecessary  articles  to 
the  still  unpacked  trunks,  which  stood  in  the 
dining-tent,  and  had  now  before  me  the  task 
of  making  my  bed  for  the  first  night's  rest  at 
Sippican.  Lucretia,  in  a  most  becoming  blue 
dressing-gown,  her  flossy  yellow  hair  all  about 
her  shoulders,  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her 
straw  bed  putting  up  crimps  in  company  with 
Josephine  Foster.  Emily  Dudley,  who  is  the 
most  matter-of-fact  and  common-place  of  mor- 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


145 


tals,  was  already  soundly  asleep.  Mrs.  Dudley, 
whose  hobby  is  to  be  always  taking  doses  her 
self  and  offering  them  to  others,  had  put  on  a 
plaid  flannel  dressing-gown,  and  above  this  a 
jacket  of  quilted  cashmere. 

"  Thank  you  very  much  for  finding  my  rub 
bers,"  she  said,  as  I  came  in.  "  I  do  not  dare 
to  go  to  sleep  without  them.  They  will  draw 
the  soles  of  my  feet,  perhaps,  but  I  dare  not 
risk  the  damp  air  striking  my  feet.  The 
boards  of  the  floor  are  by  no  means  properly 
seasoned." 

"  Now  I  '11  tell  you  a  story,"  announced  a 
cheerful  voice  from  a  distant  corner :  "  Once 
they  was  free  child'n,  all  black,  and  would  n't 
eat  their  suppers ;  so  the  great  big  bear  came 
a  roarin'  and  a  growlin',  and  wow  I  he  eated 
them  all  up  but  they  bones,  and  he  eated  them 
up  too  !  " 

"  Rodney  Sparhawk,  you  tiresome  child," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  "  don't  let  me  hear 


146 


A    WOODLAND  WOOING. 


another  word  from  you  to-night.  Do  you 
understand?  " 

"  Then  I  '11  whisker,  so  you  can't  hear  me," 
said  the  unquenched  Rodney. 

"  Don't  want  to  be  eated  all  up  with  a  bear," 
piped  Bevis,  dismally. 

"  There  are  no  bears  at  all,"  said  his  mother, 
"  and  Rodney  is  nasty  to  tell  stories  to  frighten 
you.  Go  to  sleep,  and  hurry  about  it,  or  all 
the  sweet  little  dreams  will  fly  away  from  your 
bed." 

"  Do  you  see  any  now  ?  "  queried  Bevis,  with 
anxiety. 

"  Yes,  a  great  many  lovely  ones." 

"  But  I  can't  see  them." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  wear  glasses, 
Now  go  to  sleep  this  minute." 

"  All  wight,"  replied  Bevis,  drowsily. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Dudley  had  put  up  her 
curl  papers  and  solemnly  tied  on  a  quilted 
hood.  Next  she  bound  bits  of  scarlet  flannel 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


about  her  wrists  to  guard  against  rheumatism. 

o  o 

took  two  pills  and  a  dose  of  some  nauseous- 
looking  yellow  mixture  from  a  bottle,  put  out 
her  little  safety-lamp,  and  finally  retired.  Silence 
settled  over  the  tent,  and  over  the  encampment. 
Everybody  was  either  asleep  or  trying  to  get 
to  sleep;  but  as  for  me,  I  was  never  more  hope 
lessly  wide-awake.  I  tossed  about  on  my  straw 
bed  and  changed  my  pillow  from  side  to  side. 
The  night  air  stole  in  under  the  tent,  cool  and 
damp  and  sweet.  Josephine  Foster  sneezed 
unwarily.  Instantly  a  match  was  scratched,  the 
safety-lamp  glimmered  in  the  darkness  like  a 
little  star,  and  Mrs.  Dudley  came  across  the  tent. 

"  Open  your  mouth,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
which  sounded  deep  and  hollow  in  the  silence. 

No  reply  from  Josephine,  though  I  think 
she  was  not  asleep.  Mrs.  Dudley  grasped  her 
shoulder  firmly. 

"Wake  up,"  she  said;  "open  your  mouth  and 
take  this." 


148 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"Take  what?"  asked  Josephine,  sleepily. 

"  A  quinine  pill.  You  sneezed,  and  I  think 
there  's  probably  malaria  around.  Or  are  you 
having  a  chill  ?  " 

"I  am  not,"  said  Josephine,  ungratefully.  "  I 
am  not  the  least  bit  chilly.  I  am  too  warm 
under  this  great  blanket." 

"  Then  you  must  be  feverish,"  said  Mrs. 
Dudley,  triumphantly,  "  and  that  is  a  much 
worse  symptom." 

"  I  have  n't  any  symptoms  at  all,  Mrs.  Dud 
ley,"  said  Josephine,  with  sleepy  rudeness,  "  and 
I  shall  not  take  any  medicine  at  all." 

Upon  this  Mrs.  Dudley  retired  to  her  couch 
in  injured  silence,  and  sleep  once  more  settled 
upon  all  eyelids  but  my  own.  Some  perverse 
imp  seemed  to  have  taken  upon  himself  the 
special  charge  of  keeping  my  eyes  open  and 
my  ears  unnaturally  alert.  Once  the  floor 
creaked  strangely.  Then  there  was  little  to 
hear  except  the  many  chirping  voices  of  the 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


149 


insects  of  a  summer  night,  merged  into  a  sort 
of  out-door  orchestra.  I  lay  separating  the 
sounds.  That  was  the  tree-toad ;  that  the 
cricket ;  that  the  katydid ;  those  the  whistles  of 
the  frogs  in  the  marshes;  that  "glug!  chunck  ! " 
was  some  portly  dweller  among  the  sword  reeds 
and  blue  flag  on  the  pond's  border.  In  any 
pause  came  the  soft,  hissing  lap  of  the  water, 
running  up  over  the  tiny  beach  and  then  sliding 
musically  back  again.  Perhaps  it  was  this 
sound  which  first  made  me  imagine  I  was 
thirsty.  It  was  only  imagination,  to  begin  with, 
but  once  indulging,  I  found  myself  becoming 
more  miserable  every  minute.  I  thought  of  the 
terrible  pictures  by  Dore  in  Father's  "  Ancient 
Mariner."  I  saw  distinctly  the  ghastly  faces, 
the  open  mouths,  the  hideous  protruding 
tongues  and  eyeballs.  I  was  growing  quite 
wild  with  nervousness  and  thirst,  when  some 
thing  happened  which  made  me  forget  myself 
and  my  discomfort  completely.  Just  outside 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


the  tent  I  heard  a  soft  and  stealthy  footstep. 
It  was  very  deliberate,  but  it  came  nearer  and 
nearer  every  minute.  It  was  most  uncomfort 
able  to  lie  there  listening  to  the  sound,  and  to 
feel  that  I  was  the  only  waking,  hearing  being 
in  the  whole  dark  camp.  In  a  moment  some 
thing  touched  the  tent  canvas  and  moved  along 
cautiously  as  if  feeling  for  the  door.  Just  then 
a  hand  from  Emily  Dudley's  bed  grasped  me. 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ? "  whispered  Emily, 
hoarsely. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  What  do  you  think  it 
is?  There  used  to  be  bears  on  Sippican.  You 
don't  think—" 

"  Of  course  not,  silly,"  said  the  practical 
Emily.  "  It  is  a  tramp  or  something,  and  he 
will  rob  the  provision  tent.  I  must  manage  to 
go  and  call  Father." 

Just  here  came  a  stumble.  Our  tent  quaked 
wildly,  and  some  heavy  body  fell  to  the  ground 
with  violence. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Oh,  come  now !  "  exclaimed  a  masculine 
voice,  which  ran  unexpectedly  into  a  squeak  at 
the  end. 

The  feeling  of  utter  relief  was  delightful.  I 
slipped  on  my  rubber  sandals,  and  wrapped  in 
my  big  gray  blanket,  hastened  silently  from  the 
tent. 

"Oh,  Bobby,"  I  said,  "  is  it  you?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Bob,  crossly,  "who  did 
you  think  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Trying  to  be  still,  and  not  wake  anybody 
up." 

"  Did  you  tumble  over  a  guy  rope  ?  "  I  gig 
gled  delightedly. 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  returned  Bob,  with  some 
sharpness,  "  but  it  does  n't  strike  me  as  so 
awfully  funny  as  it  seems  to  you.  I  am  on  my 
way  to  the  dining  tent  after  a  dipper." 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  going  for  water,"  I  said  joy 
ously,  all  my  thirst  returning,  "  I  will  go  too. 


152 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


I  can  find  a  glass  or  a  dipper,  or  something, 
because  I  put  them  away." 

We  made  our  way  to  the  dining  tent.  As 
I  crept  in  under  the  -door  I  caught  a  curious 
glow  or  flash  on  the  floor,  which  at  once  dis 
appeared.  I  stood  still,  with  my  heart  pound 
ing  against  my  side.  There  was  a  tramp  about 
then,  as  Emily  had  thought,  and  he  was  here 
in  the  tent,  alone  in  the  darkness  with  me.  I 
fortified  myself  by  thinking  of  Bob,  who  was 
waiting  close  outside. 

"  Who  is  here?"  I  demanded,  in  a  feeble  and 
shaky  voice. 

After  an  instant  of  silence  there  was  a  little 
click.  The  faint  glow  appeared  again,  and  I 
saw  Miss  Alexander,  Mrs.  Sparhawk's  guest, 
sitting  upon  the  floor,  with  a  tiny  dark  lantern 
beside  her.  She  looked  unnaturally  white,  and 
her  large,  pale-blue  eyes  shone  like  a  cat's. 
She  had  a  dark  cloak  about  her,  and  her  wavy 
red  hair  was  tumbling  over  her  shoulders. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"Arc  you  ill?"  I  asked.  "I  thought  you 
were  in  our  tent  asleep." 

"  I  could  not  sleep,"  she  said  softly  and 
hurriedly.  "  I  crept  out  and  came  here.  I 
must  write  a  letter  for  Jackson  to  carry  back 
to-morrow.  But  no  one  must  know.  I  am 
sure  I  can  trust  you,  Miss  Betty;  you  will  not 
betray  me?  " 

"  I  will  not  tell,"  I  said  stiffly,  for  I  thought 
she  was  silly,  and  that  she  was  trying  to  make 
a  mystery  out  of  a  very  simple  matter.  Of 
course  Mrs.  Sparhawk  would  not  have  minded 
her  writing  a  letter. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  she  said  very  earnestly; 
"  I  thought  I  could  trust  you.  I  was  sure  I 
could." 

I  made  no  answer,  and  by  the  time  I  had 
found  a  mug  she  was  busily  writing  by  the  pale 
glow  of  her  little  lantern. 

"  What  were  you  talking  to  yourself  about, 
Betty?"  asked  Bob,  as  I  joined  him. 


154 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  I  could  n't  find  the  glasses,"  I  answered, 
evasively,  "  and  I  was  hunting  about  for  them. 
Ugh !  how  cold  the  grass  is !  " 

It  was  cold  and  quite  drenched  with  dew,  and 
I  shivered  a  little  as  we  stood  on  the  tiny  white 
beach.  The  water  of  the  pond  looked  black  as 
ink,  and  now  and  then  we  caught  a  faint  splash 
out  on  its  sullen  surface,  from  some  leaping  fish 
or  elfish  water-sprite.  Bob  dipped  a  cupful  of 
the  cool  liquid,  and  impolitely  drank  first,  be 
fore  dipping  any  for  me. 

"  It  tastes  mighty  froggy,"  he  said  critically, 

I  crept  quietly  back  into  the  tent.  I  won 
dered  if  Miss  Alexander  had  come  in  before 
me ;  but  I  did  not  speculate  much,  for  soon  the 
crickets  ceased  their  chirping,  my  thoughts  be 
came  dcliciously  confused,  and  I  slipped  away 
into  a  dreamless  sleep. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


155 


XIII. 

WHAT   BOB    SAYS. 

I  SAY  that  it  comes  hard  on  a  fellow  to  be 
everlastingly  sitting  down  to  write,  when  there 
are  so  many  better  things  to  do.  If  you  were  a 
girl  it  would  n't  matter,  and  Betty  need  not  take 
on  airs  just  because  her  chapters  are  longer 
than  mine.  She  is  n't  a  man,  and  it  does  n't 
depend  on  her  whether  we  have  any  meat  for 
dinner. 

The  ham  and  beef  are  all  gone,  you  see,  and 
the  tongue,  too.  So  now  we  have  got  to  shoot 
our  own  dinners.  It  is  against  the  law  to  buy 
any  meat.  Fred  and  I  went  away  up  the  brook 
to-day  and  caught  a  jolly  lot  of  trout.  They 
are  sizzling  away  now,  over  the  fire,  and  Betty 
is  peeling  the  potatoes.  Mr.  Dudley  always 
makes  the  coffee,  and  I  can  tell  you  it  smells 


i56 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


good  enough.  We  shall  have  blueberries,  too, 
for  supper,  that  we  picked  on  the  mountain  to 
day.  After  supper  those  that  dare  to,  go  row 
ing  in  the  punt;  she  leaks,  but  Fred  and  I  are 
going  to  patch  her  up.  We  can  fix  her,  I  think, 
so  that,  at  least,  the  water  won't  come  in  faster 
than  you  can  bail  it  out.  There  are  water-lilies 
over  across  the  pond ;  only  the  beaver  lilies, 
the  yellow  kind,  grow  on  this  side. 

Supper  is  ready  at  last,  so  I  can't  write  any 
more. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


157 


XIV. 

WHAT   BETTY   SAYS. 

IN  the  high  heat  of  a  summer  afternoon  we 
were  toiling  dismally  up  the  rough  side  of  Sippi- 
can  Mountain.  The  path  wound  among  rocky 
ledges  and  clumps  of  hemlock  and  blueberry. 
There  was  no  shade  until  one  reached  the  ever 
green  belt,  half-way  to  the  summit.  It  was  a 
day  of  sickening  heat,  without  a  puff  of  wind, 
and  our  party  was  rather  silent  as  we  languidly 
trailed  along  in  single  file,  "  going  to  fish  for 
blueberries,"  as  Bob  wittily  remarked. 

"  I  am  not  going  one  single  step  farther," 
announced  Lucrctia,  suddenly. 

She  sat  down  hopelessly  on  a  cushion  of  crisp 
gray  moss,  and  took  off  her  hat.  Her  face  was 
as  pink  as  a  wild  rose ;  and  her  hair,  usually 
knotted  so  closely,  was  loosened  just  enough 


I  sj  8  A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 

to  free  a  few  pretty,  soft  locks  about  her  neck 
and  face.  Lucretia  was  only  flushed  enough 
to  look  adorably  pretty.  I  was  conscious  my 
self  of  being  most  vulgarly  crimson-faced  and 
blowzy. 

"If  you  give  up,  Lucretia,  then  so  shall  I," 
said  Josephine,  fretfully.  "  I  wish  I  had  stayed 
at  camp.  I  'm  sure  I  never  should  have 
dreamed  of  coming,  if  I  had  known  how  warm. 
it  was." 

She  also  sat  down  and  removed  her  hat,  Ted 
and  Colonel  Sparhawk  urged  them  to  try  to 
reach  the  pines,  and  a  sympathetic  group  gath 
ered  about  them.  Just  before  me  Emily  Dudley 
plodded  with  an  air  of  stolid  endurance,  and 
ahead  of  her  Mr.  Hamlin  was  wandering  on  by 
himself,  looking  very  ill-natured. 

"  The  only  truly  sensible  members  of  the 
camp  are  those  who  refused  to  come  on  this 
direful  scramble,"  said  a  voice  behind,  and 
Arthur  Winthrop  joined  me. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


159 


His  round  face  was  crimson  with  heat,  and  his 
spectacles  reflected  the  sunshine  dazzlingly. 

"  I  am  looking  for  geodes,"  he  announced 
cheerfully,  —  "  garnet  geodes.  I  have  heard 
they  are  found  on  Sippican,  though  I  am  bound 
to  say  I  never  found  one  myself." 

Arthur  Winthrop  is  just  out  of  college.  He 
is  a  painfully  good  and  studious  young  man. 
He  always  does  what  is  expected  of  him,  and 
it  is  his  mother's  placid  boast  that  "Arty"  has 
never  caused  her  an  hour's  anxiety  since  he 
was  born. 

"  I  have  not  devoted  my  whole  time  to 
geology,"  he  said,  "  for  I  have  been  cutting 
alpenstocks  for  the  young  ladies.  Here  is 
one  for  you.  It  will  help  you  up  the  hill." 

"Did  you  cut  your  initials  on  them  all?" 
I  asked,  as  I  accepted  the  gift. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  with  kind  patronage ;  "  that 
was  a  special  favor  to  you." 

We  had  reached  the  pine  belt  by  this  time, 


WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  were  sitting  down  to  rest  in  the  shade. 
Below  us  the  rest  of  the  party  had  abandoned 
the  intention  of  sitting  forever  on  the  blazing 
hillside.  They  were  toiling  toward  us  silently 
in  single  file,  except  that  Theodore  was  helping 
Lucretia. 

"  Come,"  said  the  relentless  voice  of  Emily 
Dudley  above  me,  "  if  you  stop  at  all,  you  '11 
begin  to  realize  how  warm  and  tired  you  are. 
Just  keep  right  on,  and  you  won't  mind  it  half 
so  much." 

Arthur  Winthrop  remonstrated,  but  I  rose 
obediently. 

"We  shall  have  no  hot  cakes  for  supper  if 
we  do  not  get  the  berries,"  I  said  sordidly. 

"  I  do  not  think  of  cakes  at  a  time  like  this," 
reproved  my  companion. 

Nevertheless,  I  left  him  sitting  on  a  bank  of 
moss,  and  keeping  away  the  mosquitoes  with  a 
brake,  while  I  followed  Emily  and  presently 
emerged  from  the  pines  into  the  sunlight  once 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


more.  Here  were  the  berries,  however,  —  cover 
ing  the  bushes,  growing  in  fat  clusters,  each 
berry  as  large  as  a  small  grape,  and  covered 
with  lovely  blue  bloom.  Mr.  Ham!  in  had  taken 
his  field-glass  and  disappeared.  Emily  and  I 
were  apparently  all  alone  on  the  top  of  Sippican 
Mountain.  Emily  Dudley  picked  berries  with 
the  steady,  persistent  method  with  which  she 
docs  everything.  She  entirely  cleared  one  bush 
of  fruit  before  leaving  it,  and  never  wandered 
about  for  "  thick  places,"  as  Bob  and  I  do. 

After  a  while  I  found  myself  out  of  sight  of 
Emily.  It  grew  hotter  and  stiller  on  the  moun 
tain.  I  could  no  longer  hear  the  voices  of  Ted 
and  Arthur  singing  "Lauriger"  below  in  the 
woods.  Only  the  harsh  cawing  of  a  pair  of 
crows,  sweeping  about  over  their  great  nest  in 
a  blasted  pine-tree,  broke  the  stillness.  They, 
too,  became  quiet,  and  I  heard  my  own  heavy 
breathing  and  the  rattle  of  the  berries  falling 
into  my  tin  pail. 


WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Presently  I  remembered  that  Bob  and  Fred 
were  fishing  at  a  pond  somewhere  beyond  this 
side  of  the  mountain,  and  I  became  quite  eager 
to  see  the  water.  I  wandered  here  and  there 
for  different  views.  I  did  not  find  the  pond, 
which  was  not  wholly  strange,  as  I  was  con 
stantly  going  lower  instead  of  higher.  I  sat 
down  to  rest  presently,  discouraged  by  the 
distance  I  had  come.  One  comes  so  much 
more  swiftly  down  a  mountain  than  one  can 
climb  up.  I  began  to  eat  up  my  blueberries, 
which  were  warm  but  luscious.  High  above 
me,  at  my  left,  a  grateful  little  cloud  shadowed 
the  sun  for  a  moment.  From  the  same  direc 
tion  came  a  shrill  Swiss  yodel,  repeated  several 
times,  and  in  a  moment  Mr.  Hamlin  appeared 
and  came  down,  stumbling  and  sliding  over 
stones  and  the  smooth,  dry  grass. 

"  I  have  brought  you  an  alpenstock,"  he 
cried. 

"  I   have   one   already,"  I   said  ungraciously, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


163 


as  he  came  beside  me.  "  I  mean,  of  course,  I 
am  much  obliged,  but  you  see  Arthur  Winthrop 
gave  me  one." 

Mr.  Hamlin  sat  down  on  the  crisp  gray  moss 
beside  me,  and  taking  up  my  alpenstock,  re 
garded  it  a  little  scornfully. 

"  It  is  crooked,"  he  said. 

It  was  as  straight  as  a  dart,  but  I  did  not 
defend  it. 

"Did  you  ask  him  to  cut  his  initials  on  it?" 
he  asked. 

"  No,"  I  replied  meekly. 

"  Then  what  business  had  he  to  do  it?" 

"  They  are  very  good  letters,"  I  said  critically. 

"  He  might  as  well  have  made  them  all  slant 
the  same  way,  while  he  was  about  it,"  observed 
Mr.  Hamlin. 

"  They  do,"  I  said  half-heartedly,  for  I  was 
becoming  dissatisfied  with  my  stick. 

"  He  might  at  least  have  smoothed  the  top 
off  a  little  better,"  went  on  my  companion ; 


1 64 


A   WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  however,  if  you  have  one,  you  don't  want 
another;  "  and  he  was  about  to  fling  his  staff 
away. 

"Oh,  don't!"  I  cried,  "please  do  not.  I 
think  I  would  rather  have  it.  It  —  I  think 
yours  is  straighten" 

"Well,  give  me  the  other,  then.  You  cannot 
keep  both.  One  must  go." 

Reluctantly,  and  fully  aware  of  my  own  base 
ness,  I  gave  up  poor  Arthur's  stick,  with  all  its 
careful  carving,  and  saw  it  sent,  with  a  sudden, 
vigorous,  masculine  fling,  far  down  the  side  of 
the  mountain. 

"  Oh,"  I  cried,  "  I  'm  so  sorry  it 's  gone  !  " 

Mr.  Hamlin,  who  was  busy  cutting  something 
on  the  remaining  stick,  gave  me  a  look  of  quiet 
contempt. 

"  At  least  you  are  consistent,"  he  said. 

"Well,"  I  ventured,  after  I  had  watched  his 
carving  for  a  moment,  "  you  are  inconsistent 
yourself.  You  thought  it  was  impertinent  for 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


Arthur  Winthrop  to  make  his  initials  without 
asking  me,  and  now  you  are  doing  the  same 
thing." 

"  That  is  entirely  different,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin, 
with  dignity. 

"What  is  different?" 

"  The  initials  are  different." 

After  this  idiotic  dialogue  we  gazed  at  each 
other  a  moment  in  silent  disgust.  Then  we 
both  laughed  ;  after  which  we  went  down  the 
mountain  to  a  big  pine,  where  I  sat  down  to 
pin  up  the  rents  in  my  gown,  and  Mr.  Hamlin 
carved  whatever  he  chose  upon  my  staff. 

"  I  felt  a  little  breeze,"  remarked  Mr.  Hamlin, 
intent  upon  his  work. 

I  threw  aside  my  hat,  and  a  puff  of  cooler  air 
lifted  the  hair  on  my  forehead. 

"  How  still  it  is  !  "  I  said. 

The  sun  had  gone  behind  a  cloud,  and  the 
odors  of  hemlock  and  sweet  fern  had  grown 
suddenly  heavy. 


WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  It  's  a  relief  to  have  —  "  began  Mr.  Hamlin  ; 
then  suddenly  springing  to  his  feet  he  ex 
claimed,  "  Look  at  that  cloud  !  " 

Over  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain  was  rising 
rapidly  a  cloud  as  dark  as  lead.  The  air  be 
came  more  breathless  and  oppressive  than  be 
fore,  and  a  curious  listening  hush  fell  upon 
everything.  In  short,  a  heavy  thunder-storm 
was  close  upon  us. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  I  cried  in  great 
dismay.  "  How  stupid  of  us  to  come  so  far  ! 
We  shall  be  drenched  before  we  get  back  to 
the  top  and  down  the  other  side." 

"  We  must  go  down  this  side,"  Mr.  Hamlin 
decided  promptly.  "  Give  me  your  hand,  Miss 
Betty  ;  we  must  run  for  it." 

Hand  in  hand,  panting  and  breathless,  we  tore 
wildly  down  the  mountain  pasture,  over  sticks 
and  stones,  moss  and  rocky  ledges,  like  a  pair 
who  were  fleeing  from  fate.  Mr.  Hamlin's  field- 
glass  bumped  against  his  hip  as  he  ran,  and  my 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


i67 


pail  of  berries  swayed  and  swung.  At  every 
step  the  berries  bobbed  over  the  brim,  and  like 
Gretel,  I  left  a  trail  behind  me  of  scattered  fruit. 
The  first  warm,  slow  drops  of  rain  were  begin 
ning  to  fall  when  we  reached  the  foot  of  the 
mountain;  yet  even  here  Mr.  Hamlin  would 
not  let  me  stop,  but,  gasping  that  he  saw  a 
chimney,  he  hurried  me  across  the  pasture  and 
down  the  dusty  road.  The  rain  was  just  upon 
us  when  we  reached  the  Butterfield  farm-house, 
and  dashed  recklessly  in  at  the  door,  which 
stood  hospitably  open.  Mr.  Hamlin  drew  out 
a  chair  for  me,  but  I  sank  into  a  heap  on  the 
floor.  We  were  in  a  large,  raftered  kitchen, 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  the  pleasant  spicy 
odor  of  the  wood  fire,  newly  kindled  in  the 
stove.  As  we  tumbled  in  at  one  door  Mrs. 
Simeon  Butterfield  came  in  at  another  with  an 
armful  of  sticks,  which  she  threw  down  upon 
the  floor. 

"  Wai,"  she  said,  in  a  rich,  comfortable  voice, 


WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  hed  a  narrer  squeak  for  't,  didn't  ye?  Little 
more  'n  ye  'd  been  soppin'." 

"  We  must  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
lin,  "  for  coming  in  without  knocking." 

"  Law  sakes,"  said  the  woman,  regarding  us 
with  a  broad  and  friendly  smile,  "  don't  say  a 
word  ;  don't  say  a  word.  'T  want  no  time  to 
stop  for  manners,  I  'm  sure." 

She  proceeded  to  fill  her  stove  with  wood, 
and  opening  the  oven  door,  urged  me  to  sit  up 
and  dry  my  boots. 

"  Ye  Ve  about  lost  all  your  plums,  I  guess," 
she  said  sympathetically.  "  Adaline,  she  went 
over  a  spell  ternoon  and  picked  a  mess  for 
supper.  I  'm  a  stewin'  of  'em  now  in  mo 
lasses.  Adaline,  she  thinks  there  aint  nothin' 
quite  so  good  as  her  mar's  stewed  plums. 
Says  she  don't  get  nothin'  like  'em  over  to  the 
Corner." 

While  our  hostess  talked  I  had  noticed  a 
towzled,  sandy  head,  which  kept  appearing  at 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


169 


the  door  leading  into  the  wood-house,  and  which 
dodged  away  as  often  as  I  looked. 

"  That 's  Elnathan,"  said  the  woman,  apolo 
getically.  "  I  tell  him  folks  might  almost  think 
he  was  n't  wcll-witted,  but  he 's  only  bashful. 
He 's  different  from  Adaline  an'  alwees  was, 
though  to  be  sure  she  's  got  a  good  many  more 
manners  than  what  she  had  before  she  went  to 
the  Corner.  She  's  been  down  to  the  Corner 
two  seasons,  Adaline  has,  to  work  in  the  corn 
factory.  I  think  them  corn-factory  folks  are 
sort  o'  stuck  up,  and  girls  get  high  notions 
there." 

She  looked  rather  serious  for  a  moment  over 
Adaline's  "  high  notions,"  then  her  face  relapsed 
into  its  good-humored,  easy  expression. 

"  I  guess  ye  must  be  from  the  Arrowsic  camp, 
haint  ye,  over  beyond  the  mounting?  Elnathan, 
he  's  been  over  once  to  see  ye.  He  's  dretful 
curious  about  the  camp  an'  tents,  but  after  all 
he  darsn't  speak  to  them  when  he  gets  there, 


I/O 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


he  's  so  dretful  bashful.  Good  lands  !  Do  look 
at  it  rain  !  " 

The  rain  was  indeed  falling  in  sheets,  but  the 
thunder  and  lightning  were  far  off.  It  looked 
almost  as  if  it  were  settling  down  to  storm  all 
night.  Mr.  Hamlin  and  I  exchanged  glances 
of  humorous  despair.  At  this  minute  a  door 
opened,  and  the  much-talked-of  Adaline  herself 
appeared,  surrounded  by  an  admiring  group  of 
children  of  assorted  sizes. 

She  was  a  young  girl,  with  a  rather  pretty, 
silly  face,  and  she  had  a  self-conscious  air  which 
her  mother  entirely  lacked.  She  giggled  and 
shook  her  earrings  about,  as  she  looked  at  Mr. 
Hamlin,  and  slid  her  wide  black  rubber  brace 
lets  up  and  down  her  wrists. 

"  This  is  my  daughter  Adaline,"  said  our 
hostess.  "  Adaline,  this  is  Dr.  Greenleaf's 
daughter;  don't  you  remember  her?  Rally, 
though,  I  Ve  forgot  what  your  name  be,"  she 
added,  regarding  Mr.  Hamlin  with  a  benevolent 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


I/I 


look,  "  only  seem'  ye  onct,  ye  know,  when  ye 
come  with  the  medicine  that  day." 

The  name  being  given,  and  the  ceremony  of 
introduction  concluded,  our  hostess  ran  on  with 
her  stream  of  talk. 

"  I  always  sot  a  sight  by  your  father,"  she 
said,  "  an'  I  know  him  real  well.  He  took  our 
Eva  May  through  the  measles  last  winter ;  done 
it  well,  too.  Now  you  must  jest  stop  to  supper; 
ye  see  it  don't  hold  up  a  mite  yet.  Ef  it  haint 
done  raining  after  supper,  Elnath  shall  carry  ye 
round  home  in  the  wagon.  Now  you  go  right 
into  the  fore-room,  and  Adaline  will  entertain 
ye.  You  play  to  'em,  Adaline,  and  show  'em 
the  album,  and  I  '11  stir  up  somethin'  for  an 
early  supper." 

Reluctantly  we  agreed  that  it  was  quite  im 
possible  for  us  to  start  for  home  in  such  a  storm, 
and  though  politely  protesting  against  the  sup 
per,  we  yielded  at  length,  and  meekly  followed 
Adaline  into  the  "  fore-room."  The  "  fore- 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


room  "  was  small  and  stuffy.  It  smclled  of  oil 
cloth  and  varnish  and  bombazine,  but  it  was,  of 
its  class,  quite  an  opulent  "  fore-room."  There 
were  a  haircloth  sofa  and  four  slippery  hair 
cloth  chairs.  A  mahogany  centre-table  was 
covered  with  a  white  cloth  with  a  knotted  fringe. 
In  the  middle  stood  a  lamp  on  a  green  worsted 
mat.  Round  about  this  were  ranged  the  family 
Bible,  the  album,  a  red  pin-cushion  made  over 
a  broken  goblet,  and  a  box  once  covered  with 
shells  pressed  into  putty,  but  now  showing 
chiefly  the  putty,  with  holes  where  the  shells 
had  been.  On  the  wall  hung  a  hideous 
"  Death-bed  of  Abraham  Lincoln,"  framed  in 
leather-work ;  a  "  Sailor's  Return,"  in  cones ;  a 
Biblical  scene,  in  pebbles ;  and  a  certificate  of 
membership  of  the  M.  E.  American  Mis 
sionary  Society,  enriched  with  a  border  of 
beans. 

Eva  May,  the  smallest  of  the  flock  of  chil 
dren,  not  being  at  all  afflicted  with  her  brother 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


173 


Elnathan's  shyness,  volunteered  a  good  deal  of 
information. 

"  That 's  Gran'f 'ther  Butterfield's  coffin-plate," 
she  said,  pointing  to  a  silver  plate  which  adorned 
the  wall  above  the  mantel ;  "  and  that  wreath  in 
the  frame,  them  was  the  flowers  Aunt  Silviny 
had  onto  her  coffin.  I  went  to  her  funiril,"  she 
added  with  awful  relish.  "  That 's  the  only 
funiril  ever  I  ben  to." 

"  Don't  talk  so  much,  Eva  May  Butterfield," 
said  Adaline,  setting  forth  two  of  the  slippery 
chairs.  "  Do  take  seats." 

We  seated  ourselves  in  silence.  The  atmos 
phere  of  the  room  was  depressing,  not  to  say 
funereal ;  and  I  longed  for  the  old  kitchen,  with 
its  cheerful  mistress,  its  fragrant  fire,  and  open 
door. 

"  Could  n't   we    have    the    windows    open? 
suggested  Mr.   Hamlin. 

"  If  you  can  get  'em  open,"  said  Adaline, 
dubiously.  "  They  was  stuck  down  when 


174 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


the  house  was  painted,  and  they  Ve  always 
stuck." 

It  proved  that  they  stuck  still ;  and  after  a 
brief  but  manful  struggle,  Mr.  Hamlin  gave  it 
up,  and  we  relapsed  into  gasping  silence. 

"  I  '11  show  you  the  album,  if  you  want  to  see 
it,"  said  Adaline. 

She  openly  addressed  Mr.  Hamlin,  and  estab 
lished  herself  beside  him.  I  had  nothing  to  do 
but  listen  humbly  from  afar,  and  watch  the 
rain. 

"This,"  began  Adaline,  with  the  air  of  a 
show-man,  "  is  Aunt  Cathrme.  She  used  to 
live  over  to  Litchfield  Corner,  in  a  house  with 
a  bay  window ;  she  's  dead  now.  That 's  Uncle 
Jeduthan,  her  husband;  he's  dead,  too.  That's 
my  Aunt  Adaline,  that  I  was  named  for;  she 
keeps  three  canaries.  And  that 's  her  first  hus 
band,  Uncle  John ;  he  's  dead.  Her  second 
husband  never  was  took;  we  aint  got  no  picture 
of  him." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


175 


"Why  not?"  asked  Mr.  Hamlin,  briskly, 
rousing  himself  to  take  an  interest  in  his  enter 
tainer's  efforts,  and  frowning  upon  me  as  he 
detected  me  in  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  he  don't  darse  to,"  replied  Adaline ; 
"  he  's  too  bashful.  He  's  dretful  bashful,  Uncle 
James  is.  That's  my  cousin  Julia;  she's  dead 
now.  That  's  her  twin  brother,  Jude ;  he 's 
joined  the  church  this  summer.  That 's  Aunt 
Samanthy;  she 's  dead.  That 's  mother's  Uncle 
Peleg;  his  wife,  she  hung  herself  out  in  the 
barn,  and  Uncle  Peleg,  he  never  knew  it; 
thought  she  'd  gone  to  some  of  the  neighbors, 
till  he  went  out  to  do  the  chores,  and  found  her 
hanging  in  the  tie-up." 

"  She  was  dead,"  cheerfully  added  Eva  May, 
who  stood  by  an  interested  listener. 

"That,"  continued  Adaline,  "is  Maria  Carey; 
she  's  gone  to  Idaho.  That 's  my  brother  four 
years  ago." 

"  Is  he  dead?"  asked  Mr.  Hamlin. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Why,  no,"  replied  Adaline,  much  shocked, 
"  that 's  Elnathan ;  did  n't  you  see  him  out  in 
the  kitchen?" 

I  laughed  gleefully  though  silently,  and  Mr. 
Hamlin  shook  his  head  at  me  over  the  elaborate 
plaits  of  Adaline's  hair. 

"  Who  is  this  queer-looking  child  with  such 
big  ears?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  that 's  me  when  I  was  a  baby,"  answered 
Adaline,  slightly  offended. 

At  this  I  laughed  aloud,  and  after  a  minute 
Adaline  decided  to  join  me.  We  were  still 
laughing  when  the  door  opened,  and  a  young 
man  was  ushered  in  by  Mrs.  Butterfield. 

"  One  more  to  keep  ye  company,"  she  an 
nounced  cheerfully.  "  Elnath  had  this  young 
feller  out  in  the  barn.  He  came  on  one  o'  them 
crazy  wheels  that  city  boarders  trapse  about  on 
now-days.  You  jest  make  yourselves  to  home, 
all  of  ye,  and  we  '11  hev  supper  in  no  time 
now." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


177 


The  new-comer  was  a  dark  and  rather  hand 
some  young  man  in  brown  velvet  knickerbockers 
and  a  Norfolk  jacket.  He  had  evidently  reached 
the  shelter  of  the  barn  before  the  shower  began, 
for  he  was  as  neat  and  jaunty  as  a  fashion  plate. 
He  bowed  slightly  as  Mrs.  Butterfield  presented 
him,  and  seating  himself  by  the  window  became 
absorbed  in  studying  the  dripping  lilac  bush 
outside. 

"  I  wisht  you  'd  play  me  a  tune,"  said  Adaline, 
suddenly  addressing  me  for  the  first  time.  "I 
wisht  you  would.  I  'm  terrible  fond  of  music." 

"  I  cannot  play,"  I  replied,  "  but  we  should 
like  to  hear  you." 

"  I  don't  play,"  answered  Adaline,  "  I  sing. 
But  I  haint  practised  for  ever  so  long." 

"  Do  sing,"  urged  Mr.  Hamlin.  "  Let  me 
open  the  melodeon  for  you." 

"  Oh,  I  never  should  darst  to,"  declared  Ada- 
line,  nevertheless  rising  and  following  him.  "  I 
aint  us't  to  singin'  before  strangers." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


She  sat  down,  however,  with  much  giggling 
and  shaking  of  elbows.  The  chair  proved  to 
be  too  low,  and  required  a  "  Choral  Wreath  " 
and  a  "  Golden  Lyre "  to  bring  it  up  suffi 
ciently.  Then,  when  she  was  fairly  seated, 
she  was  obliged  to  bend  down  half  a  dozen 
times  to  be  sure  that  the  pedals  were  really 
there. 

"  There,  now  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  can't,  and 
I  said  I  could  n't." 

"  Oh,  but  you  have  n't  tried  yet,"  said  Mr. 
Hamlin,  reassuringly.  "  Do  try." 

Thus  coaxed  and  encouraged  Adaline  finally 
yielded,  and  struck  in  boldly  with  that  charming 
ditty,  "  Pull  for  the  Shore."  Her  voice  was  loud 
and  shrill.  The  pedals  rattled  and  clattered,  the 
wind  choked  and  gulped  in  the  bellows ;  but 
Adaline,  having  started,  sang  on  and  on,  paus 
ing  neither  for  breath  nor  interlude,  until  she 
had  sung  every  verse,  when  she  stopped  panting, 
saying  meekly,  — 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


179 


"  I  haint  sung  any  for  a  long  time ;  I  'm  all 
hoarscd  up." 

Mrs.  Buttcrficld  had  appeared  at  the  door 
with  floury  hands,  but  a  countenance  beaming 
with  placid  approval. 

"  Sing  'em  '  Surely  the  Captain  May  Depend 
on  Me,' "  she  urged.  "  I  call  that  about  the 
handsomest  tune  of  all." 

Upon  this  Adaline  obligingly  began  again. 
She  not  only  sang  her  mother's  favorite,  but 
many  others.  She  urged  Mr.  Plamlin  to  join  in 
the  chorus.  I  sat  behind  her  and  laughed  at 
Mr.  Hamlin,  near-sightcdly  peering  over  Ada- 
line's  shoulder  and  singing  Moody  and  Sankey 
favorites.  The  dark-faced  young  man  looked 
melancholy,  and  gazed  into  the  lilac  bush.  The 
rain  had  nearly  stopped  falling,  and  the  blue 
sky  was  breaking  through  the  clouds.  I  was 
about  to  suggest  that  we  might  safely  start  for 
home,  when  Eva  May  appeared  at  the  door  and 
announced  supper. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


The  table  was  spread  in  the  kitchen,  and 
about  the  door  leading  into  the  wood-house 
several  children  were  clustered,  gazing  long 
ingly  at  the  viands. 

"  Father  'n'  Elnathan  aint  a  comin',"  an 
nounced  one  of  them,  shrilly.  "  Elnath  says 
he  druther  eat  in  the  tie-up  than  along  of 
comp'ny." 

"  There,  Victory,  I  guess  that  '11  do,"  said 
Mrs.  Butterfield,  with  dignity.  "  You  can  come 
to  table  and  set  in  Elnath's  chair.  See  how 
much  like  a  little  lady  you  can  act." 

The  sun  had  come  out  warm  and  bright,  and 
shone  in  at  the  open  kitchen  door.  In  the  pool 
of  rain-water  left  in  the  hollow  door-stone  two 
gaunt,  yellow-legged  chickens  disported  them 
selves  as  we  ate  our  supper. 

"  Ef  I  'd  only  a  'known  ye  were  comin',"  said 
Mrs.  Butterfield,  hospitably,  "  I  'd  a  hed  some- 
thin'  cooked  up  for  ye  ;  but,  as  't  is,  I  haint 
nothin'  raly  fit  to  set  before  comp'ny.  I  don't 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


know  when  I  've  hcd  scch  awful  poor  luck  with 
my  biscuits.  Ef  ye  hed  n't  just  come  from 
campin'  out,  I  should  be  ashamed  to  offer  'em 
to  ye." 

"Are  you  camping  out?"  asked  the  dark 
young  man,  suddenly  raising  his  eyes  from  his 
plate. 

Upon  hearing  that  we  were,  he  became  un 
expectedly  interested  in  us.  He  was  anxious  to 
know  how  we  liked  the  life.  He  asked  how  we 
employed  our  evenings,  and  what  we  did  in 
stormy  weather.  I  thought  he  decidedly  gave 
Mr.  Hamlin  an  opportunity  to  invite  him  to 
visit  the  camp,  but  this,  very  naturally,  Mr. 
Hamlin  did  not  do.  The  young  man  said  that 
he  was  spending  some  weeks  at  the  "  Gorge," 
a  mountain  village  thirty  miles  above,  where 
summer  visitors  thronged. 

"  I  am  terribly  afflicted  with  insomnia,"  fixing 
his  melancholy  dark  eyes  upon  my  face.  "  My 
physician  has  ordered  me  to  spend  much  time 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


in  the  open  air,  and  my  bicycle  and  I  have 
pretty  thoroughly  explored  the  country  about 
here." 

"  You  certainly  cannot  think  of  getting  back 
to  the  Gorge  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  bluntly. 

"  Mrs.  Butterfield  has  kindly  promised  me  a 
bed  for  to-night,"  replied  he,  with  a  smile.  "  I 
believe  I  will  take  a  little  spin  for  exercise,  if 
the  roads  will  allow  it." 

We  had  left  the  table  and  were  standing 
grouped  about  the  open  door. 

"  We  must  be  getting  home  at  once,"  said 
Mr.  Hamlin,  decidedly;  "your  sister  will  be 
anxious  about  you,  Miss  Betty." 

The  dark  young  man  had  disappeared,  and 
now  returned  rolling  beside  him  a  bicycle, 
whose  great  wheel  looked  as  though  a  big 
spider  had  spun  it.  Mr.  Hamlin  went  forward 
to  examine  the  beautiful  machine,  and  I  tried 
to  thank  our  hostess  for  her  kindness. 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  now,  don't  say  a  word," 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


133 


she  said;  "'twas  pot-luck,  and  poor  enough  at 
that.  You  're  real  welcome,  I  'm  sure.  Lands  ! 
Do  see  him ;  he  's  histin'  himself  up." 

The  dark  young  man  had  mounted  his  bicycle, 
and  was  running  up  and  down  before  the  house 
for  the  benefit  of  the  children,  who  stood  staring 
in  open-mouthed  wonder.  From  the  door  of 
the  barn  the  bashful  Elnathan  and  his  frowzy- 
haired  father  looked  on  with  much  interest. 

"  Gosh !  "  exclaimed  Elnathan,  admiringly, 
"  I  sh'd  like  to  try  that  myself.  Looks  dretful 
easy." 

"  Ye  great  loon,"  replied  his  father,  "  ye 
could  n't  no  more  ride  it  than  ye  could  ride 
our  young  bull." 

As  we  started  for  the  camp  along  the  wet 
road,  the  bicycler  joined  us. 

"  If  you  would  n't  mind,"  he  said,  gracefully 
touching  his  Tam-o'-Shanter  cap,  "  I  should 
very  much  like  to  ride  a  little  distance  with 
you." 


1 84 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  not  very  cor 
dially;  and  the  three  of  us  soon  left  behind  the 
hospitable  house  of  the  Butterfields,  and  the  star 
ing  group  about  the  door.  The  sun  was  not  yet 
set,  and  the  air  was  full  of  fresh  wild  odors  of 
brake  and  pine  and  moss.  When  we  passed 
through  the  little  beech  wood-road  the  drops 
of  rain  were  still  pattering  softly  among  the 
dripping  leaves,  and  now  and  then  falling, 
slow  and  heavy,  to  the  already  sodden  earth. 
The  frogs  were  croaking  in  a  noisy  chorus, 
glad  of  the  rain ;  and  deep  among  the  trees,  a 
wood  bird  was  calling  in  a  voice  of  delicious 
sweetness. 

Just  beyond  the  wood  our  escort  said  good 
night  and  left  us.  I  turned  and  watched  him 
as  he  rode  away.  He  looked  a  very  handsome 
young  figure  in  his  velvet  clothes  and  dark-red 
cap. 

"  What  a  very  good-looking  young  man !  " 
I  exclaimed. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


I85 


"  Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Hamlin,  whipping  the 
drenched  roadside  bushes  with  my  alpenstock, 
"  he  's  good  enough  looking,  but  his  get-up  is 
confoundedly  theatrical." 

"  He  looks  melancholy,"  I  said  sentimentally, 
"as  if  he  had  some  trouble  weighing  on  him." 

"  Dyspepsia,"  returned  Mr.  Hamlin,  briefly, 
still  whipping  the  bushes. 

"You  could  11 1  have  seen  him  eat  ham  and 
hot  soda  biscuit,"  I  laughed,  "  if  you  think 
that." 

It  was  three  miles  round  the  mountain  road, 
and  it  was  quite  dark  when  at  last  we  reached 
Sippican  Meadow  and  saw  the  fire  burning  below 
the  tents.  We  found  the  camp  in  a  damp  and 
discouraged  condition.  They  were  gathered  in 
the  dining  tent  attempting  to  tell  stories.  They 
had  supped  upon  cheese  and  limp  crackers, 
and,  altogether,  it  seemed  that  our  lot  had  been 
happier  than  theirs. 

"  Josephine  is  angry,"  whispered  Lucretia  to 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


me  as  we  were  going  to  bed.  "  You  know  she 
thinks  Mr.  Hamlin  is  her  property.  And  it 
really  was  improper,  too,"  she  added  ;  "  I  don't 
know,  I  'm  sure,  what  Aunt  Jane  would  say." 

Miss  Alexander  came  across  to  me  presently, 
with  her  wavy  red  hair  hanging  below  her  waist 
and  her  eyes  shining  like  stars.  She  looked 
almost  pretty.  She  brought  a  box  of  choco 
lates,  and  offered  them  to  me  as  I  sat  on  the 
edge  of  my  bed. 

"  Don't  you  like  them?  They  are  Maillard's," 
she  said.  "  I  would  n't  stir  from  home  without 
a  supply  of  Maillard's  confectionery.  Arc  n't 
you  dreadfully  tired?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  replied  cheerfully.  "  I  am  so 
strong.  I  'm  a  country  girl,  you  know.  It  was 
really  quite  a  funny  adventure." 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  there,"  she  said  suddenly. 
Then  she  fell  to  studying  her  pretty,  delicate 
hands.  "  How  demoralizing  camp  life  is,"  she 
mused.  "  I  use  my  toilette  dcs  angles  every  day, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


I87 


yet  my  fingers  are  growing  hideous.  I  should 
be  ashamed  to  have  anybody  kiss  my  hand 
now." 

"  I  should  at  any  time,"  I  said  bluntly.  "  I 
should  feel  like  an  idiot." 

Miss  Alexander  gave  me  an  enthusiastic, 
sudden  squeeze. 

"  What  a  dear  little  innocent  daisy  you  are  !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  should  like  to  confide  in 
you." 

"  You  'd  better  not,"  I  returned ;  "  I  always 
tell  things." 

"  Was  your  sister  scolding  you  for  coming 
home  alone  with  Mr.  Hamlin?  "  she  asked. 
"  To  be  sure,  though,  you  were  n't  alone,  for 
the  young  bicycler  escorted  you." 

"  Only  a  little  way,"  I  said.  "  He  went  back 
to  Mrs.  Butterfield's  to  spend  the  night.  I  think 
he  is  going  back  to  the  Gorge  to-morrow.  He 
wore  a  beautiful  brown  velvet  suit.  I  wish  all 
the  young  men  were  dressed  that  way." 


WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Brown  velvet  is  very  becoming  to  those  light 
men,"  observed  Miss  Alexander. 

"  He  was  not  light,"  I  corrected.  "  He  was 
very  dark,  and  he  looked  very  grave  and  mel 
ancholy.  I  quite  pitied  him." 

"  You  are  a  darling  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Alex 
ander,  with  another  hug.  "  You  may  keep  the 
chocolates.  Good-night,  c/ufrie." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


XV. 
WHAT   BOB    SAYS. 

YOU  see  this  bow-and-arrow  business  would 
be  all  well  enough  if  you  ever  hit  anything;  but 
the  plain  truth  is  that  you  don't.  Here  we  've 
been  over  two  weeks  in  camp,  and  not  one  sin 
gle  confounded  thing  has  anybody  shot.  Of 
course  the  boiled  ham  and  beef  that  we  brought 
along  with  us  lasted  a  few  days,  but  since  we 
finished  that,  we  've  just  lived  on  fish  till  I  won 
der  we  don't  have  fins  grow.  This  is  n't  half 
as  jolly  a  camping-out  as  last  year.  We  had 
plenty  to  eat  then.  Betty  is  different  too.  She  's 
all  gone  to  pieces  ;  no  fun  in  her.  She  has  n't 
been  fishing  with  Fred  and  me  half  the  time. 

Yesterday  Fred  and  I  went  for  pickerel  over 
to  Mason's  Pond,  on  the  road  to  the  Gorge,  and 
when  we  'd  most  £ot  there  we  met  a  fellow  on  a 


i  go 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


bicycle.  It  was  a  boss  one.  I  never  saw  such 
a  good  one  in  my  life.  He  rode  boss,  too.  He 
could  stand  still  on  it,  almost.  Fred  and  I 
stopped  to  watch  him,  and  he  got  off  to  fix 
something,  so  we  got  to  talking  with  him,  and 
that's  how  he  came  to  give  me  the  letter.  It 
was  to  Miss  Alexander.  Betty  does  n't  like  her, 
but  I  think  she  's  a  first-rate  sort  of  a  girl. 

She  has  had  a  hard  time  of  it  at  home,  too,  I 
guess,  but  she  is  n't  afraid  of  spiders ;  so  the 
fellow  said  if  I  'd  give  her  the  note,  and  not  let 
anybody  see,  he  'd  be  awfully  obliged.  You 
see,  we  'd  told  him  about  ourselves  and  the 
camp,  and  then  he  offered  me  a  ride.  I  did  try 
it,  too,  it  looked  so  easy.  Fred  just  climbed  up 
and  keeled  over,  and  I  did  n't  stay  on  quite  as 
long  as  Fred.  So,  of  course,  I  did  give  her  the 
note,  and  as  — 

There 's  Fred,  and  we  're  going  across  the 
pond  for  sweet  flag. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


XVI. 

WHAT    BETTY    SAYS. 

"MR.  HAMLIN,"  called  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  pleas 
antly,  "  Miss  Alexander  and  I  are  going  to  the 
Glen.  Will  you  not  come  with  us  to  protect 
us  from  wild  beasts?" 

We  all  looked  up  in  some  surprise.  It  was  a 
perfect  morning,  with  a  cool  breeze  darkening 
the  surface  of  the  pond ;  but  Mrs.  Sparhawk 
was  by  no  means  fond  of  walking  over  country 
roads,  and  usually  preferred  remaining  behind 
in  her  hammock,  to  joining  any  of  our  expe 
ditions.  Mr.  Hamlin  rose  from  the  grass  and 
brushed  the  cigar  ashes  from  his  blue  flannel 
garments. 

"  By  all  means,"  he  said,  not  very  cordially. 
"Why  don't  we  all  go?" 

Nobody  else  appeared  to  wish  to  start,  how- 


192 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


ever.  Mrs.  Winthrop  had  cooking  to  do ;  Mrs. 
Dudley  considered  the  Glen  a  damp  and  rheu 
matic  spot;  Emily  wished  to  see  if  she  could 
not  finish  her  chair-cover  that  morning,  and 
Lucretia,  Josephine,  Ted,  and  Arthur  Winthrop 
had  ensconced  themselves  under  the  shade  of 
the  apple-tree,  too  comfortably  to  be  disturbed. 

I  should  have  liked  to  go  myself,  and  was 
about  to  say  so,  when  Mrs.  Sparhawk  asked 
me  to  take  care  of  the  children. 

"  You  are  so  good-natured,  Miss  Betty,"  she 
said,  "  that  I  fear  I  'm  imposing  on  you,  but  the 
Colonel  will  soon  be  through  with  his  letters, 
and  then  you  can  turn  the  young  imps  over  to 
him.  Are  you  ready,  Annie?" 

Annie  Alexander  rose  from  her  camp-chair 
rather  languidly.  She  had  told  me  one  even 
ing  that  she  had  a  hidden  grief,  but  I  thought 
myself  that  she  must  get  a  good  deal  of 
consolation  from  her  gowns.  She  is  one  of 
those  people  with  a  positive  genius  for  dress. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


193 


Josephine  looks  like  a  commonplace  dowdy  be 
side  her.  Nothing  could  be  simpler  than  her  gray 
batiste  gown  and  her  little  black  hat;  and  yet 
there  was  nobody  in  camp  to  compare  with  her, 
as  she  unfurled  her  large  batiste  sun-umbrella 
and  stepped  off  beside  Mr.  Hamlin. 

"  There  goes  a  thoroughly  artificial  girl," 
commented  Mrs.  Winthrop,  unwisely,  "  and 
yet  every  man  in  the  camp  is  fascinated  by 
her." 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  matter  with 
her  ?  "  asked  Rodney  Sparhawk,  shrewdly. 
"  She  gives  me  choclits,  and  Bevis  stole  my 
sugared  almond," 

"  Did  n't  eivcr,  stoled  it  yousef,"  promptly 
responded  the  warlike  Bevis,  digging  so  vio 
lently  with  an  iron  spoon  that  the  sand  flew  in 
our  eyes. 

"  I  think   he  has  forgotten  what  you  said,"  I 
said  softly  to  Mrs.  Winthrop.     "  He  could  not 
understand  your  words." 
13 


194 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  I  'm  goin'  in  bavin',"  announced  Bevis. 
"  Tired  o'  diggin'  dirt." 

"  Wait  until  Papa  comes,  Bevis,"  I  urged. 
"  I  do  not  think  he  would  like  you  to  go  in 
so  soon  after  breakfast." 

"  He  wants  me  to  be  clean,"  put  in  Rodney, 
"  so  I  guess  we  better  go  right  off.  We  always 
did  at  home." 

"  Why,  Rodney,"  I  said,  trying  by  discussion 
to  divert  them  from  really  going  in,  "  you  have 
no  pond  at  home." 

"  We  bathed  in  the  cistern,"  replied  Rodney, 
with  dignity.  "  Now  I  think  we  better  take  off 
our  stockings  to  save  time,  and  take  off  our 
shoes  too." 

"  What  is  going  on  here,  pray,  you  nasty  little 
apes  ?  "  asked  a  fond  maternal  voice,  and  Mrs. 
Sparhavvk  appeared  beside  us. 

She  took  a  seat,  adjusted  her  glasses,  and 
began  to  fan  herself. 

"  I   could   not  endure  it,  after  all,"  she   said 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


195 


plaintively.  "  I  did  want  to  see  the  cascade, 
and  I  thought  the  Glen  would  be  so  deli- 
ciously  cool ;  but  that  dreadful  country  road 
was  too  bad.  Really,  my  ankles  are  quite 
twisted  out  of  joint.  I  had  to  give  it  up  and 
come  back." 

"  And  the  others  went  on  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Winthrop. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  smiling.  "  Mr. 
Hamlin  urged  poor  Annie  so  that  she  really 
could  n't  refuse." 

She  fanned  herself  slowly  for  a  moment,  and 
then  added,  • — 

"  Quite  a  case  of  infatuation.  Annie  is  one 
of  the  most  infatuating  creatures !  She  always 
takes  men  by  storm." 

"  Do  you  want  the  children  to  go  in  bathing, 
Mrs.  Sparhawk  ? "  I  asked  abruptly.  "  They 
said  they  were  going,  but  I  thought  it  was  too 
near  their  breakfast  time." 

"  And  you  were  right,  you  real  little  doctor's 


196 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


daughter,"  she  said  gayly.  "  Children,  you  are 
absolutely  not  to  go  into  the  water,  not  one 
step,  do  you  understand?" 

"  We  Ve  got  our  shoes  and  stockings  all  off," 
said  Rodney. 

"  Very  well,  put  them  on  again,"  said  Mrs. 
Sparhawk,  with  fine  decision. 

She  picked  up  her  French  novel  from  the 
grass  and  began  to  read,  while  the  children 
calmly  and  happily  proceeded  to  go  in  wading. 
As  nobody  else  appeared  to  pay  the  slightest 
attention  to  the  little  things,  I  went  down  to  the 
beach  beside  them,  where  my  own  gown  speedily 
became  quite  drabbled  and  spattered  from  the 
children's  splashing. 

"  Here  comes  a  horse-car,"  announced  Rodney, 
unexpectedly. 

Horse-cars  not  running  regularly  over  the 
Sippican  Mountain  route,  Rodney's  remark  met 
with  more  than  usual  attention.  I  looked  up, 
and  Emily  Dudley  put  down  her  embroidery. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


I97 


"  It  is  Mrs.  Jarlcy,"  said  Arthur  Winthrop, 
from  his  scat  under  the  tree. 

"  It  is  Dr.  Marigold,"  declared  Colonel  Spar- 
hawk,  who  had  just  come  out  of  the  dining 
tent. 

"  A  circus  !  a  circus  !  "  cried  Bevis,  spattering 
wildly  out  of  the  water.  "  Come  quick,  Papa, 
and  wipe  my  two  fects.  The  grass  is  pricky." 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  exclaimed  Ted,  springing  from 
the  ground;  "  it  is  a  travelling  photographer." 

"What  fun!"  joined  in  Josephine;  "now 
we  '11  all  have  our  pictures  taken." 

The  van  was  gayly  painted  with  red,  and  had 
a  white  funnel  running  out  of  one  end.  A  little 
glass  roof  rose  in  the  middle.  The  car  was 
drawn  by  two  bony  horses,  and  the  reins  ex 
tended  directly  into  the  open  door.  The  driver 
was  invisible. 

With  one  accord  we  abandoned  books  and 
work  and  hastened  up  the  meadow.  Even  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  strolled  after  us,  adjusting  her  eye- 


198 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


glass,  and  declaring  that  this  was  "really  very 
droll,  you  know." 

"  Hi !  "  shouted  Ted.    "  Stop  !    Don't  go  by." 

He  need  not  have  been  afraid  of  this,  as  it 
proved,  for  by  the  time  we  reached  the  road  the 
car  had  stopped.  A  young  man  in  a  ging 
ham  coat  came  out,  followed  by  a  red-haired 
boy,  and  began  to  unharness  the  travel-tired 
horses. 

"How  de  do?"  asked  the  gingham-coated 
one,  politely.  "  Dry  spell  we  've  ben  havin' 
lately." 

He  went  on  briskly  with  his  work  while  we 
all  stood  and  stared  at  him,  much  as  a  band  of 
natives  might  have  stared  at  Stanley  in  the 
trackless  wilds  of  Africa. 

"  Turn  'em  out,  Harmon,  and  let  'em  feed 
down  along  the  road,"  said  the  master  of  the 
caravan  to  the  boy. 

He  let  down  a  small  flight  of  steps  from  the 
end  of  the  car. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


199 


"  Now,  ladies  and  gents,"  he  said  politely, 
"walk  right  in  and  make  yourselves  to  home. 
I  heard  about  the  camp  over  to  Snow's  Falls, 
and  I  drove  down  this  mornin'  a  purpose  to 
'commodate  you." 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  you,"  observed  Ted, 
slyly. 

"  I  'm  always  glad  to  'commodate,"  the  man 
replied.  "  I  thought  like  enough  you  'd  like  a 
chance  to  set.  Walk  in  and  look  at  the  pictures, 
anyway,  even  if  you  should  n't  wish  to  be  took. 
Walk  right  in.  Don't  be  bashful." 

Thus  invited,  we  all  clambered  into  the  car, 
Rodney  and  Bevis  making  themselves,  as  Theo 
dore  remarked,  "  rather  too  frequent,"  and  nearly 
knocking  over  the  rest  of  us  in  their  haste  to  be 
first  in  the  field. 

"  I  mus'  have  my  pickshcr  took,"  cried  Bevis, 
shrilly.  "  Rodney  had  his  las'  winter,  and  he 
cried  an'  then  he  had  candy." 

"  That  was  a  tooth,  you  silly  little  boy,"  said 


2QO  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

Rodney,  with  a  superior  air ;  "  and  I  guess  you  'd 
have  cried  'bout  that." 

Within  the  car  the  atmosphere  was  stuffy  and 
smelled  of  chemicals.  The  glass  roof  had  a 
curtain  of  faded  blue  cambric.  There  was  a 
sort  of  screen  at  the  further  end,  a  couple  of 
steamer-like  berths,  a  cupboard,  a  little  rusty 
stove,  a  few  chairs,  and  a  table  on  which  were 
the  untidy  remnants  of  a  meal.  In  cases  hanging 
against  the  wall  were  the  pictures :  tintypes  of 
every  size,  from  minettes  at  twenty-five  cents  a 
dozen,  to  the  imposing  "  Emperial  Bodoor,"  — 
"  a  French  name,"  the  photographer  explained 
casually  and  condescendingly,  —  which  were  half 
a  dollar  apiece.  He  added,  to  take  the  sting 
from  this  exorbitant  price,  that  they  were  as 
much  sought  after  as  real  oil  painting,  and 
"  would  wear  better,  besides." 

We  found  the  pictures  more  entertaining  than 
the  proprietor,  and  spent  some  time  in  exam 
ining  them.  There  were  farmers  and  farmers' 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  2OI 

wives,  rustic  beaux  and  belles,  and  family  groups 
of  children.  Some  were  simpering,  and  some 
wore  an  expression  of  wide-eyed  horror,  as  if 
they  were  in  momentary  expectation  of  the 
camera's  exploding  like  a  dynamite  bomb. 
Nearly  every  girl  grasped  a  bouquet  firmly. 
It  was  always  the  same  bouquet,  and  we  easily 
recognized  the  original  in  the  bunch  of  faded 
pink  muslin  roses  lying  upon  a  chair.  As  for 
the  men,  they  mostly  sat  in  ox-eyed  blankness. 
The  large  right  hand  clutched  an  unaccustomed 
book ;  the  left  hand  was  carelessly  disposed 
upon  the  knee.  There  was,  too,  in  nearly  every 
picture  a  bit  of  rustic  stump  in  some  position  in 
foreground  or  background. 

"  Now,"  announced  cheerful  Mr.  Winthrop  at 
last,  taking  pity  upon  the  wistful  artist,  —  "  now 
we  must  all  have  pictures.  Who  sits  first?" 

"  Me  !  "  shouted  Rodney  and  Bevis  in  shrill 
chorus. 

And   in   fact  they  were   taken   at  once,   "  the 


2Q2  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

better,"  as  their  mother  remarked,  "  to  have 
the  nasty,  troublesome  little  creatures  out  ^of 
the  way." 

Mrs.  Dudley  from  the  steps  without  urged 
her  daughter  to  leave  the  car. 

"  Emily,"  she  said  plaintively,  "  if  you  will 
persist  in  staying,  at  least  come  here  and  let  me 
wet  your  handkerchief  in  camphor.  Those 
chemicals  must  be  bad  to  breathe." 

"  I  see,"  said  Colonel  Sparhawk,  "  that  you 
have  a  rustic  stump.  Do  you  charge  more  for 
introducing  that?" 

"Not  a  cent  more,"  replied  the  artist,  "  though 
I  dare  say  some  would.  I  don't  mind  saying 
that  it's  a  second-handed  stump,  though  you 
would  n't  think  it.  It  is  every  bit  as  genteel 
as  what  it  ever  was.  I  got  it  at  a  bargain  of 
Perkins  Brothers  over  to  Reedville,  though,  as 
't  was,  I  paid  a  good  high  price  for  it  too. 
Perkins  Brothers,  they  'd  had  it  a  considerable 
spell,  and  their  patrons  had  all  ben  took  with 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


203 


it,  so  they  planned  for  somethin'  new  and 
taking.  Amos,  the  oldest,  he  was  for  having 
a  trellis ;  but  Andrew,  he  was  sot  on  a  post 
with  an  urn  atop  of  it.  I  never  knew  which 
they  got  at  last,  but  I  bought  the  stump, 
and  it 's  brought  me  in  more  setters  than  you  'd 
believe." 

"What  exciting  things  have  taken  place  in 
our  absence  !  "  cried  a  gay  voice  at  the  door. 

"  I  firmly  believe,  Mrs.  Sparhawk,"  chimed  in 
the  voice  of  Mr.  Hamlin,  "  that  you  knew  of  this 
by  second-sight,  and  tried  to  cheat  us  out  of 
having  our  pictures  taken." 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not,"  protested  Mrs.  Sparhawk, 
laughing.  "  In  proof  of  my  fairness,  see,  you 
shall  have  the  next  sitting.  Let  us  have  a 
group,  —  Miss  Alexander  seated  on  the  stump, 
and  you  standing  gracefully  beside  her." 

"I  detest  having  my  picture  taken;  let  us 
off,  please,"  begged  Miss  Alexander,  prettily. 

"No,"  laughed  Mrs.  Sparhawk;  "really,  I  am 


204 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


inflexible.  To  please  me,  Annie.  You  know  I 
have  a  fancy  for  my  own  way." 

"  Ipsa  dixit"  murmured  the  Colonel,  with  a 
grimace.  "  If  I  had  chanced  to  say  that !  " 

Somehow  all  the  fun  seemed  to  have  gone 
out  of  the  thing  since  Mr.  Hamlin  came.  I  felt 
cross  and  out  of  patience  with  Bevis  and  Rodney, 
and  the  whole  affair  of  the  picture-taking  grew 
as  stupid  as  possible.  Miss  Alexander  con 
sented,  after  much  urging,  to  sit  on  the  stump ; 
and  after  she  and  Mr.  Hamlin  were  taken,  Mrs. 
Winthrop  and  Bevis  had  a  picture.  Then 
Mr.  Winthrop,  holding  that  absurd  bouquet; 
then  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  with  the  stump  in  the 
foreground  ;  Bob  and  Fred  in  fishing  cos 
tume,  with  the  stump  between  them ;  Emily, 
Josephine,  and  Lucretia,  with  the  stump  dimly 
seem  in  the  background ;  Theodore,  Emily, 
and  Lucretia;  Arthur  Winthrop  with  his  geo 
logical  hammer;  and  in  nearly  every  picture 
Rodney  and  Bevis,  with  many  heads  and  hands, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


205 


because  keeping  still  was  with  them  an  utter 
impossibility. 

"  You  have  n't  had  your  picture  taken,  Betty," 
said  Bob,  most  inopportunely. 

"  I  'm  not  going  to,"  I  answered,  preparing  to 
leave  the  car. 

Almost  everybody  had  gone  back  to  the 
camp.  Only  the  children  and  the  two  boys 
were  left. 

"  Do  have  it  taken,  just  for  fun,"  urged  Bob. 
"All  the  rest  of  us  have." 

"Do,"  added  Bevis;  "and  me  too,  I'll  be 
tooken." 

"  Bevis,  dear,"  said  Miss  Alexander  from  the 
door,  "  Papa  is  going  out  in  the  boat  with 
Rodney,  and  wants  you  to  come  too." 

"What  is  this  about  your  picture?"  asked 
Mr.  Hamlin,  coming  in.  "  Have  you  had  the 
big  one  taken  yet?" 

"What  big  one?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  the  '  Emperial  Bodoor '  for  your  father." 


206  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

"  Father  detests  tintypes,"  I  said. 

"For  your  Aunt  Jane,  then,  or  for  Harriet; 
no  matter  for  whom.  You  are  to  sit  on  the 
stump  and  hold  your  sailor  hat  in  your  lap  — 
s'il  vous  pi  ait  T 

"  But  it  does  not,"  I  cried,  vexed ;  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  taken  at  all." 

"  Don't  be  a  gump,  Bet,"  advised  Bob. 
"What  do  you  want  to  be  so  silly  for?  Go 
ahead." 

"  Emperial  Bodoor,  sir?"  asked  the  artist, 
bustling  about  and  disregarding  me  entirely. 

"  I  shall  look  as  disagreeable  as  I  possibly 
can,"  I  announced  crossly,  as  I  seated  myself. 

"  You  'd  better  not  trouble  yourself,"  said 
Bob,  frankly,  "  for  you  're  a  regular  guy  anyway, 
with  your  hair  like  a  rat's  nest  and  your  collar 
crooked." 

"  Never  mind,"  I  said,  when  at  last  the  sitting 
was  through ;  "  I  shall  give  it  to  Harriet,  and 
she  won't  mind." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


207 


After  supper  we  sat  on  the  rugs  before  the 
tents,  while  Arthur  Winthrop  and  Theodore 
tried  to  give  us  a  burlesque  of  the  ghost  scene 
in  Hamlet.  It  was  not  very  funny,  and  we  had 
to  try  very  hard  to  laugh  at  all.  Perhaps  we 
might  have  found  it  more  amusing  if  the  actors 
had  found  it  less  so. 

Mr.  Hamlin  came  down  the  field  after  a 
time  with  our  pictures.  They  were  protected 
with  little  curtains  of  magenta  paper.  After  we 
had  gazed  upon  the  tintypes  we  were  thankful 
for  the  curtains. 

"  They  are  hideous,"  said  Mrs.  Sparhawk. 
"  Limkin,  dear,  crunch  mine  up." 

"  My  life,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  let  me  keep 
one,  at  least." 

"Not  one;  they  arc  libellous,"  declared  his 
wife. 

"  Oh,  my  shoul,"  piped  Bevis,  who  was  mak 
ing  himself  quite  detestable  with  his  unhampered 
criticisms.  "  Do  look !  Miss  Betty  's  got  a 


2O8  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

navvful  big  one,  —  bigger 'n  any  uvver  body's 
here." 

"  Why,  Betty,"  said  Lucretia,  "  how  very 
funny  for  you  to  have  such  a  big  one !  " 

"  I  hate  a  lot  of  little  ones  always  round  in 
my  button-box,"  I  said. 

"  You  must  have  had  it  taken  on  purpose  for 
some  one  person,  I  should  think,"  said  Josephine, 
laughing  slyly. 

"  She  did,"  said  Bobby,  coming  to  the  rescue; 
"  she  had  it  taken  for  Harriet  Tuell." 

"It  was  my  fault,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin;  "I 
advised  it." 

"  Mr.  Hamlin,"  said  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  "  the 
dew  is  falling;  will  you  please  take  this  wrap 
across  to  Miss  Alexander,  and  give  her  a 
gentle  scolding  for  trying  to  write  in  this  half- 
light?" 

The  car  had  already  been  hitched  to  its  horses 
and  started  on  its  homeward  way.  Rodney  and 
Bevis  were  borne  away  to  bed  by  their  father. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


2O9 


Miss  Alexander  and  Mr.  Hamlin  strolled  to  and 
fro  on  the  little  beach.  Ted  and  Arthur  were 
singing  college  songs.  Presently,  when  it  was 
darker  and  damper,  the  camp-fire  was  lighted. 
Mr.  Hamlin  and  Miss  Alexander  came  and 
joined  us.  She  looked  almost  like  a  beauty  with 
Mrs.  Sparhawk's  silvery  chudclah  arranged  in 
the  Egyptian  fashion  about  her  head.  I  won 
dered  how  I  ever  could  have  thought  her  plain. 
I  thought  it  was  no  wonder  Mr.  Hamlin  liked 
her. 

"  Oh,  look  !  "  I   cried  suddenly.     "  A  will-o- 
the-wisp." 

A   round   ball   of  yellow  light  moved  swiftly 
along  the  crest  of  the  meadow  and  vanished. 

"  Where?  "    asked    several    voices.      "  What 
was  it?  " 

A  hand  clasped  mine  convulsively. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  say  any  more  !  " 
murmured  the  voice  of  Miss  Alexander  in  my 
ear.     "  Do  not.      You  may  ruin  me." 
14 


2io  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

"  It  was  a  meteor,"  I  said  inanely. 

But  I  withdrew  my  hand  from  Miss  Alex 
ander's  clasp,  and  in  a  moment,  to  get  away 
from  her,  I  pleaded  a  headache  and  went  to 
bed. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  2II 


XVII. 

WHAT   BOB   SAYS. 

WHAT  'S  a  fellow  to  do  when  a  girl  asks  him, 
even  if  he  does  n't  want  to  do  it  ?  When  she 
came  and  cried,  and  said  how  she  felt;  said 
I  was  the  only  real  friend  she  had  in  camp ; 
said  she  could  trust  me,  and  all  the  time,  you 
know,  kept  on  crying  like  anything,  —  of  course, 
I  took  the  note  and  carried  it  to  him. 

He  turned  out  to  be  the  bicycle  fellow.  I 
thought  so  when  I  saw  the  light  sail  by.  I  tell 
you  what,  though,  it  is  a  boss  bicycle ;  a  Colum 
bia.  It  is  even  more  stunning  than  I  thought 
that  day.  He  said  if  we'd  come  over  to-morrow 
we  might  try  it  all  the  morning.  Asked  me  if 
I  'd  tell  her  just  "  waiting;  "  that  one  word.  So 
I  did. 


212  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

In  the  night  it  rained,  and  the  waterproof  tent 
leaked,  and  the  flour  barrel  is  full  of  paste  this 
morning.  We  had  crackers  and  boiled  eggs  for 
breakfast.  No  meat  for  two  weeks.  To-day 
we  must  begin  shooting  in  dead  earnest;  no 
more  fooling. 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


213 


XVIII. 

WHAT   BETTY   SAYS. 

EVERY  morning  Emily  Dudley,  who  always 
tries  to  do  her  duty,  takes  her  bow  and  goes 
up  the  road  to  the  beech-wood  shooting.  She 
never  has  shot  anything ;  in  fact,  there  's  noth 
ing  to  shoot  but  squirrels  and  woodchucks, 
but  she  still  perseveres  in  the  most  admirable 
manner. 

Perhaps  living  upon  bread  and  milk  and  fruit 
is  depressing.  At  any  rate  we  are  growing 
stupid  at  Camp  Sippican.  Yesterday  morning 
Mrs.  Sparhawk  actually  threatened  to  go  home 
unless  we  made  an  effort  to  be  entertaining. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  myself,  you  know,"  she 
said  amiably,  "  but  Annie  Alexander  is  my 
guest,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  make  her  visit  pleas 
ant.  Mr.  Hamlin,  do  please  go  and  ask  her  to 


214 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


play  backgammon.  She  is  moping  over  a  book 
in  the  dining  tent." 

Mr.  Hamlin,  who  was  playing  cat's  cradle  with 
Rodney,  rose  obediently  and  departed.  He  is 
always  very  happy  to  wait  on  Mrs.  Sparhawk. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with  Miss  Alex 
ander  and  the  backgammon  board.  Miss  Alex 
ander  looked  pale  and  jaded,  in  spite  of  her 
bewitching  toque  and  jacket  of  blue  cloth  and 
silver  braids.  She  sat  down  upon  the  grass 
hopelessly. 

"  I  am  in  a  most  abominable  temper,"  she 
declared.  "  You  much  better  have  left  me 
alone,  Mr.  Hamlin." 

"  Everybody  is  in  a  nasty  temper  this  morn 
ing,"  said  Mrs.  Sparhawk.  "  I  wonder  why." 

"  It  is  the  change  in  the  weather,"  replied 
Mrs.  Dudley,  solemnly.  "  I  woke  shivering  at 
three  o'clock  this  morning.  I  am  quite  positive 
we  shall  all  be  ill,  and  no  doctor." 

"  Betty  can  doctor  you,"  spoke  up  Bob,  who 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


215 


sat  near  getting  his  fish-lines  in  order.  "  Betty 
doctored  me  once  when  Father  and  Aunt  Jane 
were  away,  and  I  had  a  diphtheretic  throat.  She 
set  Ned's  leg  once,  too.  Just  as  good  as  ever 
now,  is  n't  it,  Neddy  ?  " 

Ned,  lying  near  in  his  favorite  flattened  posi 
tion,  opened  his  eyes  and  thumped  in  a  per 
functory  manner  on  the  ground  with  his  tail. 
Mr.  Hamlin  gave  me  an  odd,  quick  look;  and 
Josephine  said,  — 

"  How  funny  for  a  girl  to  set  a  dog's  leg ! 
I  never  could  have  done  it,  I  am  so  tender 
hearted." 

"  It  is  a  pity  all  women  are  not  tender 
hearted,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  grimly. 

"  I  am  going  up  to  the  farm,"  announced 
pleasant  Mrs.  Winthrop,  coming  out  with  her 
hands  full  of  parcels.  "  I  am  going  to  make 
blueberry  pies  and  gingerbread.  Who  will  come 
up  and  help  me  carry  my  things?" 

"  I  will,"  I  cried,  jumping  up,  glad  of  some 
thing  to  do. 


2I(5  A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 

"  I  will  come  and  help  with  the  pics  in  ten 
minutes,"  called  Mrs.  Dudley  from  her  mending. 

"  I  '11  take  the  flour-bucket,"  said  Fred,  good- 
naturedly,  leaving  his  game  of  solitaire  to  follow 
us  across  the  field. 

The  farm  which  supplies  us  with  milk  and 
vegetables  is  only  a  short  distance  beyond  the 
turn  of  the  road,  and  here  we  have  hired  the 
occasional  use  of  a  "  back  kitchen  "  and  a  stove 
for  such  cooking  as  cannot  be  done  well  at 
camp.  Having  seen  Mrs.  Winthrop,  as  Harriet 
would  say,  "  in  the  middle  of  the  pies,"  Fred 
rode  triumphantly  off  on  the  farmer's  mowing- 
machine,  while  I  loitered  under  a  wide-spreading 
butternut-tree  beyond  the  farm-house.  It  was 
a  perfect  morning,  clear  and  cool,  and  a  fresh 
little  breeze  sent  the  wheat  rippling  and  bend 
ing  in  the  sunny  field  across  the  road.  I  sat 
down  on  a  stone  and  took  off  my  hat.  I  saw 
no  special  reason  for  hurrying  back  to  camp. 
I  made  myself  very  comfortable,  and  was  wish 
ing  for  something  to  read,  when  round  the  bend 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


of  the  road  came  Mr.  Hamlin.  Miss  Alexander 
was  not  with  him,  and  he  was  walking  quickly. 

"  I  concluded  you  were  not  coming  back," 
he  called  out. 

"  I  've  been  gone  about  fifteen  minutes,"  I 
said,  trying  to  look  dignified.  "  I  suppose  I 
have  a  right  to  stay  as  long  as  I  choose." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  have  not,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin, 
cheerfully. 

He  sat  down  uninvited,  and  began  to  twirl  his 
gray  Tam-o'-Shantcr  on  the  end  of  his  walking- 
stick. 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  do  that,"  I  said  crossly; 
"  you  make  me  dizzy." 

Mr.  Hamlin  stopped  promptly. 

"Are  you  out  of  temper?"  he  asked  cheer 
fully,  "or  only  hungry?" 

"  I  certainly  am  not  cross,"  I  replied  frigidly. 

"What  is  the  matter  then?"  he  asked,  re 
garding  me  frankly. 

I  could  hardly  tell  him,  what  I  was  forced  to 


2i8  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

own  to  myself,  that  I  was  cross  because  he  had 
been  playing  backgammon  with  Miss  Alexander. 
I  preserved  a  solemn  silence. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  let 's  do,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin, 
boyishly ;  "  let 's  run  away  !  " 

."What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked  severely. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  said,  and  shied  a  stone  at 
a  tiny  chipmunk  which  darted  like  a  brown  flash 
along  the  stone  wall  opposite. 

Presently  he  stepped  to  an  apple-tree  near 
by,  and  cutting  a  branch,  began  to  trim  it  for 
whittling. 

"  Sh'll  tell  Father,"  said  a  shrill  and  unex 
pected  voice  behind  us ;  and  turning,  we  dis 
covered  Tommy  Durgin,  the  small  son  of  the 
farmer,  standing  watching  our  movements  with 
the  utmost  suspicion. 

"  Sh'll  tell  Father,"  he  repeated  threateningly. 

"Tell  him  what?"  asked  Mr.  Hamlin. 

"Sh'll  tell  him  ye  went  'n  cut  a  bough  off' n 
the  hightop  tree." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


219 


"  Well,  I  would,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  continuing 
his  whittling  with  much  calmness.  "  And  since 
you  are  going,  I  would  go  at  once.  Don't  let 
us  detain  you." 

"  Huh?  "  said  the  boy,  bewildered. 

He  stared  vacantly  at  us  for  a  moment.  He 
did  not  understand  Mr.  Hamlin's  words,  but  he 
did  realize  that  he  was  being  "  made  fun  of," 
and  his  smouldering  wrath  arose. 

"  Set  the  dog  on  yer !  "  he  cried. 

"  Oh,  I  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  unmoved. 
"  You  see,  Tommy,  the  dog  has  gone  to  the 
hay-field  with  your  father." 

Angry  and  baffled,  the  boy  stood  looking  at 
us  with  evil  eyes,  and  shoving  the  loose  sand 
back  and  forth  with  his  leathery  left  foot.  I 
knew  his  dull  wit  was  striving  to  produce  some 
new  and  withering  speech,  and  I  wondered  what 
it  would  be.  It  came  soon  enough. 

"  Is  that  your  girl?  "  he  asked,  grinning 
fiendishly.  "  Homelier  'n  a  stump  fence !  " 


22O 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING, 


At  this  unexpected  turning  of  the  batteries 
on  me,  Mr.  Hamlin  darted  suddenly  forward, 
the  boy  flying  like  a  dry  leaf  before  him,  while 
I  hastened  along  the  road  in  the  other  direction. 
In  a  moment  Mr.  Hamlin  joined  me,  rather  out 
of  breath.  I  did  not  speak,  and  for  some  mo 
ments  we  walked  on  in  silence. 

"  I  gave  that  imp  of  darkness  as  thorough  a 
shaking-up  as  ever  he  had  in  his  life,  I  flatter 
myself,"  said  Mr.  Hamlm  at  last. 

"He  is  a  horrible  child,"  I  said  vehemently; 
"  how  I  hate  him  !  " 

Again  we  trudged  along  the  dusty  road  in 
silence. 

"  When  we  get  to  the  circus  — "  began  Mr. 
Hamlin,  casually. 

"What  circus?"  I  demanded,  stopping  short 
in  the  road. 

"  The  circus  at  Snow's  Falls,"  he  replied. 
"  I  supposed  that  was  where  you  were  going, 
so  I  thought  I  'd  go  too." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  22I 

"  Of  course  you  knew  I  was  not,"  I  replied. 
"  I  was  not  going  anywhere,  only  away  from 
that  dreadful  boy.  Let  us  turn  back." 

"No,"  he  persisted,  "we  are  going  to  the 
circus." 

"  I  never  went  to  a  circus  in  my  life,"  I  said, 
smiling  with  pure  pleasure  and  dallying  with 
temptation. 

"You  shall  not  say  that  to-night,"  he  said  easily. 

"Oh,  I  can't  go,"  I  decided  virtuously;  "  Lu- 
crctia  would  not  like  it.  Aunt  Jane  disapproves 
of  the  circus.  I  always  fancied  it  must  be  nice 
for  that  reason.  But  I  must  not  go." 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hamlin, 
decidedly. 

He  likes  his  own  way.  I  do  not  think  he 
cared  a  whit  about  my  going,  in  the  first  place, 
but  because  I  resisted  he  was  at  once  deter 
mined  that  I  should  cro. 

o 

"  There  is  no  reason  at  all  that  you  should 
not  cro.  It  will  be  a  reeular  lark.  I  '11  tell 


222  A   WOODLAND    WOOING. 

Lucretia  it  was  all  my  fault.  Here,  I  '11  give 
you  three  minutes  to  decide;  but  remember 
now,  Miss  Betty,  I  shall  not  respect  you  at  all 
unless  you  go." 

His  manner  angered  me,  and  I  turned  and 
walked  resolutely  away.  When  I  had  been 
walking  for  what  seemed  to  me  ten  minutes,  I 
glanced  over  my  shoulder.  Then  I  was  lost. 
My  good  resolution  faded.  I  retraced  my  steps 
shamefacedly. 

"  You  ought  not  to  make  it  so  hard  for  me," 
I  said  pathetically. 

"  One  minute,"  he  replied. 

"  You  are  unkind,"  I  declared.  "  I  think  you 
ought  to  urge  me  to  go  back  instead  —  " 

"  Half  a  minute,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  I  cried  desperately,  "  I  will  go,  but  I 
know  I  shall  be  sorry." 

"  Good  child,"  he  said,  closing  his  watch  with 
a  snap. 

I  knew  that  I  was  not  good ;  but  having  once 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


223 


decided  to  follow  my  evil  inclinations,  I  deter 
mined  not  to  make  myself  unhappy  by  thinking 
of  consequences,  and  we  started  off  quite  merrily 
upon  our  three-mile  walk.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
was  decidedly  flattered  that  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin 
should  care  to  ask  me  to  go  anywhere  with  him. 
He  always  asks  Lucretia,  unless  he  is  managed 
by  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  and  then  he  escorts  Miss 
Alexander.  As  for  me,  I  am  generally  left  to 
the  company  of  Bobby  and  Fred.  I  suppose, 
however,  that  Mr.  Hamlin's  invitation  need  not 
have  flattered  me,  for,  as  Lucretia  said  this 
morning,  "  of  course  he  would  never  have  dared 
invite  Miss  Alexander  to  so  vulgar  an  entertain 
ment  as  a  circus." 

After  we  passed  the  spot  where  the  road 
branched  to  run  around  the  mountain,  we  began 
to  come  upon  the  country  people  bound,  like 
ourselves,  for  the  circus.  Some  were  walking, 
but  many  had  come  from  the  hill  farms  and 
rode  in  shabby  wagons,  whole  families  together, 


224 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


bent  stolidly  upon  enjoying  themselves.  They 
did  not  look  merry  at  all,  but  regarded  us  with 
dull  and  vacant  eyes.  They  carried  their  din 
ners  packed  in  wooden  boxes  painted  green  or 
blue,  and  were  prepared  to  thoroughly  "  see  the 
circus  "  from  beginning  to  end. 

As  we  walked  on,  the  sun  rode  higher  and  the 
breeze  fell  away.  The  dust  from  the  passing 
wagons  was  stifling.  Very  often  we  had  offers 
from  the  kindly  drivers:  "Pick  ye  up?"  or 
"  Give  ye  a  lift?"  but  these  were  refused.  Mr. 
Hamlin  was  in  high  spirits,  and  pretending  to 
be  a  showman,  set  forth  in  absurdly  extravagant 
terms  the  attractions  of  the  circus. 

"  Only  think,"  he  added,  "  I  should  not  have 
known  there  was  any  circus  except  for  Miss 
Alexander.  She  knew.  Miss  Alexander  is  a 
most  mysterious  person.  How  do  you  fancy 
she  found  out?" 

"  I  've  given  up  fancying  things  about  Miss 
Alexander,"  I  replied,  rather  ill-temperedly. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


225 


I  could  not  decently  explain  to  Mr.  Hamlin 
that  I  believed  Miss  Alexander  to  be  a  humbug, 
who  tried  to  be  strange  and  odd,  just  to  attract 
attention. 

"  Hark ! "  said  Mr.  Hamlin ;  "  we  must  be 
very  near  the  falls.  How  loud  they  sound !  " 

In  fact,  we  were  much  nearer  than  we  thought. 
We  were  then  in  a  deliciously  cool  and  shady 
bit  of  maple  wood,  and  as  the  trees  became  less 
crowded,  we  caught  through  the  trunks  the 
gleaming  rush  of  the  falls,  and  felt  a  cool  mist 
from  the  chasm  which  yawned  below.  Beyond 
the  road  in  a  broad  meadow  shone  the  white 
tents  of  the  circus,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  the  village  of  Snow's  Falls,  perched  on  the 
ragged  side  of  the  gorge.  We  scrambled  eagerly 
down  the  chasm  until  we  reached  a  spot  where 
broad  stones  were  shaded  by  the  trees,  which 
further  up  hung  desperately  to  the  side  of  the 
cliff,  with  half  their  roots  exposed.  We  rested 
and  became  peaceful,  while  I  cooled  my  face 
15 


226  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

and  hands  in  the  clear  brown  water,  and  Mr. 
Hamlin  made  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  old  Indian 
Rock,  under  which,  behind  the  veil  of  falling 
water,  a  party  of  white  settlers  had  once  shel 
tered  themselves  and  avoided  massacre.  There 
was  nothing  down  here  but  coolness  and  peace 
and  the  sound  of  the  water ;  and  we  were  nearly 
forgetting  the  object  of  our  visit,  when,  from 
above,  a  harsh  and  strident  voice  like  a  steam- 
whistle  began  to  shriek  out  a  tune  in  the  sem 
blance  of  the  "Guards'  Waltz." 

"What  is  that?"  I  said,  startled. 

"  That,"  replied  Mr.  Hamlin,  rising  promptly 
and  offering  me  a  helping  hand,  "  is  the  voice 
of  the  far-famed  calliope,  —  the  '  only  perfect 
imitation  of  the  human  voice  known  to  science.' 
It  reminds  me  that  we  are  forgetting  the  circus. 
If  we  do  not  hurry,  we  shall  not  have  time  for 
half  the  side-shows." 

"We  are  not  going  to  the  side-shows?"  I 
said  incredulously. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOn\G.  227 

"  Every  one,"  replied  Mr.  Hamlin,  as  we 
scrambled  up  the  bank.  "  I  shall  spare  you 
nothing,  Miss  Betty." 

I  could  not  tell  always  whether  Mr.  Hamlin 
were  in  earnest  or  in  fun,  but  I  soon  found  that 
he  was  in  earnest  in  this.  One  or  two  real 
horrors  he  did  indeed  spare  me,  but  for  the  rest 
we  dutifully  visited  every  booth  and  tent,  and 
reached  the  circus  proper  in  the  most  absurd 
state  of  childish  laughter  and  idiocy. 

To  tell  the  truth,  it  was  not  much  of  a  circus. 
At  any  rate,  Mr.  Hamlin  made  fun  of  it,  but  I 
confess  that  I  took  a  sneaking  delight  in  every 
thing.  Mr.  Hamlin  declared  that  the  lions  were 
stuffed  and  the  dromedaries  moth-eaten.  He 
jeered  at  the  poor  old  tiger,  and  advised  the 
elephant  to  buy  a  rubber  blanket  and  make 
himself  a  new  cover. 

"  Look !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  sudden  glee ; 
"  there  are  Adaline  and  the  bicycle  fellow,  over 
by  the  dromedaries." 


228  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

I  was  just  looking  to  behold  this  wonder,  when 
I  was  suddenly  greeted  by  a  rich,  good-humored 
voice  behind  us. 

"Why,  how  de  do?  Who'd  'a'  thought  now 
o'  your  comin'  to  circus !  Haint  this  a  good 
joke,  our  meetin'  of  you?" 

It  was  Mrs.  Butterfield,  fat  and  jovial,  with  all 
her  numerous  family  straggling  after  her,  from 
the  greatest  to  the  least.  She  was  warm  and 
ruddy  and  panting.  She  wore  a  gown  of  green 
and  black  plaids,  and  an  ample  visite  of  thin, 
shiny  black  silk.  A  wide  collar,  fastened  by  a 
pin  containing  hair,  had  slipped  around  until 
the  brooch  was  under  her  left  ear.  Her  hair 
was  coming  unfastened,  and  one  auburn  lock 
had  fallen  down  her  back  from  under  her  bonnet. 
With  her  vigorous  right  elbow  she  was  valiantly 
forcing  her  way  through  the  crowd,  while  her 
left  hand,  enclosed  in  a  black  silk  mitt,  grasped 
the  wrist  of  Hiram  Butterfield.  The  rest  of  the 
children  followed  like  bobs  to  a  kite-tail. 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


229 


"  Wai,"  she  said,  "who  would  'a'  thought  of 
seein'  you  to  circus  !  Mr.  Dexter  's  here,  too. 
He  's  just  took  Adaline  to  see  the  beasts.  Ye 
know  he  's  ben  stoppin'  to  our  house  a  spell. 
He  says  on  'count  o'  the  view,  though  I  never 
did  think  we  lived  in  a  very  stylish  place,  sot  on 
by  the  mountains  as  we  be.  He  rides  all  day 
and  evcnin's,  too;  we  don't  see  much  of  him. 
He  don't  make  no  trouble  at  all." 

"  What  sort  of  a  crank  do  you  take  him  for?  " 
muttered  Mr.  Hamlin  in  my  ear. 

"  We  're  goin'  to  make  a  day  of  it,"  continued 
Mrs.  Butterfield.  "  Started  out  at  five  o'clock 
this  mornin'  so  's  to  git  here  in  season  to  see 
circus  come  in.  Goin'  to  stop  to  the  evenin' 
show  and  spend  the  night  at  his  brother  Elna- 
than's,  at  the  Falls.  Land  o'  Goshcn !  "  she 
added,  with  her  easy  chuckle ;  "  did  ye  ever 
see  the  beat  of  this  crowd?  It  doos  seem  as  if 
we  should  n't  never  git  sight  o'  them  monkeys. 
Almiry,  you  jest  hang  holt  of  Eva  May,  now." 


230 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


She  stopped,  and  failing  of  the  monkeys,  drew 
up  her  line  before  the  den  of  the  unhappy  polar 
bear. 

"  Wai,"  she  remarked,  "  you  don't  look  not 
to  say  sociable.  How  do  ye  like  bein'  kep'  on 
ice?" 

The  great  bear  regarded  her  viciously  from 
his  sulky  red  eyes,  but  did  not  cease  for  a  mo 
ment  the  restless  swinging  from  side  to  side  of 
his  small  head.  He  did  not  appear  to  be 
strongly  reminded  of  his  polar  home  by  the 
presence  in  his  cage  of  a  piece  of  ice  about 
large  enough  for  a  water-cooler. 

"  Don't  he  look  terrible  ugly  though?"  asked 
Mrs.  Butterficld.  "  Lands !  I  'm  glad  I  aint 
his  keeper.  Did  I  tell  ye  what  a  time  we  had 
gittin'  here?  Wagon  broke  down  just  after  we 
got  apast  the  Turner  Road.  'T  was  broke  last 
cattle-fair  time,  but  he  'd  sort  o'  mended  of  it 
up  somehow  with  a  piece  o'  rope,  and  said  he 
guessed  't  would  hold ;  but  this  load  was  a  leetle 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


231 


too  much  for  it,  and  down  we  went,  I  tell  ye. 
He'd  to  untackle  and  hide  the  team  behind  the 
alder  bushes  in  Harskill's  medder.  We  'd  to 
foot  it  into  the  village,  him  a  leadin'  of  old 
Lucy." 

She  laughed  at  the  recollection,  and  fanned 
herself  with  a  "  Short  History  of  the  Life  of  the 
Living  Skeleton,  including  some  of  his  Songs 
and  gests." 

"  What  a  beastly  crowd  !  "  Mr.  Hamlin  said, 
successfully  defending  me  from  a  pointed  para 
sol  which  was  prodding  wildly  and  vindic 
tively  about  in  the  throng  to  clear  a  passage 
for  its  owner  into  the  now  closely  packed  circus 
tent. 

"  My  good  woman,  be  careful,  if  you  please. 
You  almost  hit  this  young  lady  in  the  face." 

"  Don't  call  me  your  '  good  woman,'"  said  an 
acid  female  voice.  "  I  Ve  earned  and  paid  for 
my  own  ticket  to  this  show.  I  aint  nowise 
beholden  to  nobody,  and  I  'in  agoin'  to  git  in, 


232 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


and  hev  as  good  a  seat  as  the  next  one,  too,  or 
my  name  aint  Lizy  Doble." 

As  she  gave  a  final  vigorous  punch  with  her 
sunshade  and  was  engulfed  in  the  crowd,  Mrs. 
Butterfield  gave  a  tolerant  laugh. 

o  o 

"  Poor  Lizy  Ann,"  she  said ;  "  she  don't  hev 
no  one  to  look  out  for  her.  The  poor  critter  's 
ahvers  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  fendin'  for  herself, 
and  she  jest  goes  through  life  with  all  her  sharp 
corners  stickin'  out  to  purtect  herself.  What's 
the  matter  with  Eva  May?"  she  added,  looking 
back  along  the  straggling  line  of  Butterfields 
to  where  the  wailing  Eva  May  brought  up  the 
rear. 

"  She  wants  to  see  the  Hairy  Girl,"  piped 
Andrew  Jackson  across  the  crowd. 

"  Tut,  tut ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Butterfield,  in 
mellow  tones  of  reproach.  "  Why,  now,  Eva 
May,  I  'm  real  mortified  at  ye.  Anybody  'd 
think  a  little  gell  that  had  seen  a  double-headed 
calf  an'  an  Injy- rubber  man  an'  a  nice  living 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


233 


skeleton  all  in  one  day  had  ought  to  be  satis 
fied.  An'  there  's  Father  gone  off  to  buy  some- 
thin'  nice  to  eat ;  an'  here 's  Lysander  goin' 
to  wait  by  the  tent  door  a  purpose  to  catch  him 
an'  bring  him  where  we  're  a  settin'." 

Eva  May  being  by  this  time  brought  to  the 
front,  tear-stained  and  dishevelled,  her  mother 
stopped,  regardless  of  the  elbowing  throng 
about  her,  to  wipe  the  child's  wet  face  and 
twitch  down  her  pink  calico  frock. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  now  be  a  good  gell  an' 
stop  your  crying.  Don't  ye  give  one  more 
sithe.  Think  o'  the  splendid  show  you  're 
agoin'  to  see.  Look,  here  's  our  Hiram  goin' 
to  give  ye  one  o'  his  lozengers ;  spearmint,  too ; 
ye  know  ye  love  spearmint  lozengers." 

At  this  moment  we  were  borne  away  from 
the  Butterficld  family  by  the  swaying  crowd, 
and  we  saw  them  no  more. 

After  we  were  safely  seated,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin 
suddenly  became  silent.  He  made  no  more 


234 


A    WOODLAND  WOOING. 


jests,  and  if  I  turned  to  speak  to  him,  I  found 
him  regarding  me  with  a  curious  glance  that  I 
could  not  understand. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  involuntarily  putting 
up  my  hands  to  straighten  my  hat.  "  Am  I 
very  untidy?  You  know  I  was  not  dressed  at 
all  to  go  anywhere." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  he  said,  still  looking  at  me ; 
"  it  is  only  that  I  am  a  selfish  brute.  I  had 
no  business  to  persuade  you  to  come  to  the 
circus.  They  '11  all  be  down  on  you  when  we 
get  back." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  mind,"  I  said  cheerfully;  "  I 
don't  care  a  bit  for  Lucretia's  scoldings." 

"  It  is  not  only  Lucretia  who  will  disapprove," 
he  returned.  "  They  will  all  be  down  on  you, 
and  it  is  entirely  my  fault." 

"  I  '11  go  home  now  if  you  wish,"  I  said 
reluctantly. 

"We  may  as  well  stay,  now  we  are  here,"  he 
replied ;  then  he  laughed  suddenly. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


235 


"  I  believe  you  actually  care  about  this  beg 
garly  circus  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

I  did  care,  though  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  despised 
it.  I  liked  it  all.  Everything  was  new  to  me, 
and  I  laughed  at  even  the  clown's  stale  jests, 
and  was  completely  deceived  by  the  time-worn 
trick  of  the  unbroken  donkey.  I  was  really 
sorry  when  the  "show"  was  over,  and  we  were 
once  more  on  the  dusty  road  which  led  toward 
home.  Before  we  started  on  our  long  walk, 
Mr.  Hamlin  insisted  on  getting  me  some  re 
freshment.  He  left  me  in  the  cool  beech  wood 
while  he  crossed  the  bridge  to  the  "  village 

o  o 

store."  He  had  been  gone  some  time  when  a 
crashing  of  the  bushes  on  the  bank  startled  me. 
I  was  afraid  some  rough  fellow  from  the  circus 
grounds  had  seen  me,  and  my  breath  came 
easier  when  I  saw  the  dark  young  man  who 
rode  the  bicycle. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  raising  his  hat, 
"  but  you  see  I  remembered  that  we  were  com- 


236 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


panions  in  misfortune  the  day  of  the  thunder 
storm.  I  wonder  if  I  dare  ask  a  great  favor  of 
you." 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat;  and  as  he  stood 
leaning  against  a  beech-tree  and  looking  down 
upon  me,  I  thought  I  had  never  imagined  so 
handsome  a  man. 

"  You  do  not  look  very  stony-hearted,"  he 
said* 

"  I  would  do  it,"  I  said,  blushing  stupidly,  "  if 
I  were  sure  — 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  it,"  he  said  quickly ; 
"see,  it  is  only  to  give  this  note,  quite  privately, 
to  Miss  Alexander,  at  the  camp." 

"To  Miss  Alexander !"  I  exclaimed  in  sur 
prise  by  no  means  well-bred. 

"  If  you  will  be  so  very  kind,"  he  said,  hand 
ing  me  the  letter,  which  was  written  on  a  sheet 
torn  from  a  note-book. 

"  May  I  also  ask  you  to  add  to  my  obligation 
by  letting  this  be  a  secret,  a  secret  a  trois  f  " 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


237 


"  I  will  not  tell,"  I  said  stupidly. 

I  could  not  think  of  anything  graceful  to  say. 
I  was  surprised  and  startled,  and  felt  more  than 
ever  before  like  an  awkward,  clumsy  country 
girl.  Suddenly,  before  I  knew  it,  the  young 
man  bent  and  kissed  my  hand. 

"You  are  so  good,"  he  said  devoutly.  "Keep 
the  faith,"  and  crashed  away  through  the  bushes. 
Mr.  Hamlin  appeared  at  the  same  moment  with 
his  hands  full  of  packages. 

"  All  the  luxuries  of  the  season,"  he  began 
gayly. 

Then  he  stopped  abruptly,  looking  from  me 
to  the  disappearing  figure  of  the  stranger. 

"  What  did  he  want?  Did  he  speak  to  you?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  he  spoke,"  I  said,  blushing  under  my 
questioner's  unco_mfortably  keen  eyes.  "  He  — 
did  not  say  much." 

"  I  wish  to  know  what  he  said  to  you,"  said 
Mr.  Jack  Hamlin,  imperiously. 


238 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"I  shall  not  tell,"  I  said  sternly.  "I  —  I 
promised  not." 

"  You  promised  that  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
lin,  incredulously. 

"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  it  was  no  harm,  and  it  con 
cerns  —  I  will  not  tell  you  anything  about  it,"  I 
broke  off  angrily.  "  You  stand  there  as  if  you 
were  my  judge.  I  shall  not  say  another  word 
about  it." 

"  Very  well,  do  exactly  as  you  please,"  said 
Mr.  Hamlin,  coldly. 

He  sat  down,  but  he  was  quite  white  and 
grim,  and  his  eyebrows  were  drawn  together  in 
an  ugly  frown.  He  opened  his  various  parcels, 
but  there  was  no  longer  any  fun  about  the  little 
picnic.  I  was  too  disturbed  to  eat,  and  we  soon 
gave  it  up  and  started  silently  for  home.  I  was 
unhappy  enough,  but  I  could  not  break  my 
promise;  and  after  all,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  had  no 
right  to  question  me  as  if  he  were  my  father. 
We  plodded  along  the  sunny,  warm  high-road 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


239 


for  about  a  mile  in  most  uncomfortable  com 
panionship  ;  then  a  wagon  overtook  us.  It 
contained  only  a  farmer  and  his  sallow,  tired 
wife. 

"  Won't  you  have  a  lift  ?  "  asked  the  woman. 
"  We  're  goin'  along  quite  a  piece,  —  way  past 
the  Farrar  dcestrick." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin ;  "I  think 
this  young  lady  will  be  very  glad  to  ride.  I 
am  sure  you  must  be  tired  of  walking,"  he 
added  with  a  peculiar  emphasis,  turning  to  me. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  ride,"  I  said 
viciously. 

If  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  wished  to  be  rid  of  me, 
at  least  he  should  not  find  it  a  difficult  task. 
In  a  moment  I  was  in  the  wagon,  and  Mr. 
Hamlin,  lifting  his  hat  rather  too  deferentially, 
had  started  off  at  a  pace  which  promised  to 
bring  him  into  camp  long  before  me. 


240 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


XIX. 

WHAT  BETTY   SAYS. 

"  WHERE  do  they  keep  the  sun  when  it 
rains?"  asked  Bevis  Sparhawk,  plaintively ;  and 
some  older  persons  than  Bevis  wondered  how 
Nature  could  get  up  so  complete  a  transforma 
tion  in  so  short  a  time.  The  hapless  day  of  the 
circus  was  clear  and  warm  and  gracious ;  the 
next  day  dawned  gray  and  cold,  with  a  lowering 
sky,  and  a  raw  wind  that  chilled  one  to  the 
marrow.  The  camp-fire  was  the  only  cheerful 
feature  of  the  landscape,  and  around  this  we 
all  huddled,  pretending  to  be  neither  cold  nor 
hungry.  Mrs.  Sparhawk  wrote  a  letter  upon 
thin  foreign  paper.  Mrs.  Winthrop  tried  to 
mend  her  husband's  stockings,  her  fingers  stiff 
with  cold.  Some  read,  and  some  played  whist. 
Miss  Alexander  played  chess  with  Mr.  Hamlin. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


241 


She  did  not  look  blue  and  pinched  like  the  rest 
of  us.  She  looked  unusually  fascinating.  She 
wore  a  warm  gown  of  dark  blue  and  red  in  wide 
stripes,  and  had  a  boyish  jacket  and  a  little  fez 
of  knitted  silk.  Mr.  Hamlin  was  almost  hidden 
in  his  ulster,  and  looked  cross  and  dismal. 

As  for  me,  I  not  only  was  frowned  upon  by 
the  weather,  but  by  everybody  in  the  camp. 
Everybody  disapproved  of  me,  and  I  felt  that  I 
had  done  a  deed  only  once  removed  from  mur 
der,  in  going  to  the  circus.  Lucretia  had  been 
"  shocked,"  and  Mrs.  Winthrop  "  surprised," 
and  Mrs.  Dudley  knew  I  would  be  ill.  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  majestically  disapproved  of  me,  and 
Josephine  was  spiteful.  Miss  Alexander  told 
me  I  was  a  "  darling  love,"  when  I  delivered  my 
private  despatch ;  and  Mr.  Hamlin,  after  freeing 
me  from  the  responsibility  of  our  escapade,  had 
entirely  ignored  me,  as  if  by  speaking  to  the 
bicycle  man  I  had  forever  lowered  myself  in 
his  royal  favor.  The  children  only  remained 
1 6 


242 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


my  friends,  and  I  was  reduced  to  the  not  very 
lively  amusement  of  tracing  pictures  on  Rodney's 
transparent  slate  for  his  edification. 

"  A  salad,"  said  Colonel  Sparhawk,  from  the 
other  side  of  the  fire,  "should  never  be  cut. 
Upon  my  soul,  sir,  when  I  see  a  vandal  touch 
a  knife  to  a  plate  of  lettuce  or  cress,  I  —  I  want 
to  annihilate  him,  sir;  I  do,  upon  my  word." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  mild  Mrs.  Winthrop,  from 
her  mending,  "  why  it  is  that  we  all  have  such  a 
tendency  to  talk  about  food.  It  seems  to  be 
almost  the  only  subject  that  really  interests  us." 

"  It  is  because  we  are  starving,"  said  Emily 
Dudley,  boldly  but  hoarsely.  "  We  have  n't 
had  anything  real  to  eat  for  three  weeks.  We 
all  of  us  loathe  eggs  and  abhor  fish,  only  we 
don't  dare  to  say  so;  and  we  are  starving  for  a 
bit  of  meat,  only  we  'd  die  before  we  owned  it." 

She  sneezed  violently  several  times,  and  was 
pounced  upon  by  her  mother  and  borne  away 
to  be  dosed. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


243 


"  She  has  told  the  truth,"  said  Mr.  Winthrop, 
with  tragic  solemnity;  "we  are  starving." 

"Is  that  true?"  asked  Mr.  Hamlin ;  "  are  we 
starving?  Are  you  starving,  Miss  Betty?  " 

He  had  not  spoken  to  me  before  that  day, 
and  he  turned  to  me  so  suddenly  that  he  took 
away  my  breath. 

"  Yes,"  I  admitted  coldly,  "  I  am  like  the 
rest." 

He  turned  back  to  his  chess  looking  as  cross 
as  ever.  Rodney  Sparhawk,  having  been  sent 
to  his  mother's  desk  for  a  postage-stamp,  now 
appeared  gracefully  bearing  one  upon  the  tip  of 
his  outstretched  tongue. 

"  All  licked,  Mamma !  "  he  announced  with 
cheerful  vulgarity. 

"  I  say,  Betty,"  called  Bob,  "  how  much  did 
our  turkey  weigh  last  Thanksgiving?  He  was 
a  buster,  I  tell  you.  Don't  I  just  wish  we  had 
him  now,  though  !  " 

The  day  grew  every  minute  more  chill  and 


244 


A   WOODLAND    WOOING. 


dismal.  Mr.  Hamlin,  having  finished  his  game, 
disappeared.  Lucretia  and  Josephine  sought 
for  comfort  in  the  tent.  Bobby  and  Fred  re 
plenished  the  fire,  and  then  challenged  me  to  a 
game  of  "  stick  knife."  It  was  after  quite  half 
an  hour's  silence  that  Mrs.  Sparhawk  looked 
up  abstractedly. 

"  Does  anybody  smell  smoke?  "  she  asked,  — 
"  not  the  fire,  but  as  if  cloth  of  some  sort  were 
burning?     Colonel,  go  and  see  if  either  of  your 
children  is  afire.     Pray  do  not  sit  there  in  that 
unconcerned  manner,  as  if  you  did  not  care." 

The  Colonel  looked  up  and  dropped  his 
cards. 

"  Why,  my  dear  life  !  "  he  exclaimed, "  you  are 
burning  yourself.  I  assure  you  the  tail  of  your 
gown  is  all  afire." 

A  thin  blue  line  of  smoke  was  indeed  rising 
over  Mrs.  Sparhawk's  left  shoulder,  and  her 
gown  was  really  smouldering.  It  was  extin 
guished  in  a  moment,  and  Mrs.  Sparhawk's  face 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


245 


was  as  completely  unruffled  as  if  the  occurrence 
were  too  commonplace  to  rouse  even  surprise. 

"Wodncy  did  it!  Wodncy  did  it!  "  shouted 
Bevis,  with  all  the  holy  joy  of  bringing  a  crimi 
nal  to  justice.  "  Wodney  had  a  catty-nintle,  and 
he  sticked  it  in  the  fire  and  so  he  blazed  your 
dress,  he  did." 

The  Colonel,  more  angry  than  he  was  often 
seen,  bore  Rodney  away  to  meet  some  unknown 
awful  fate,  while  Bevis  looked  on  with  placid 
approval. 

"I  wouldn't  burn  you,  would  I,  Mamma?" 
he  asked,  with  the  conscious  virtue  of  one  child 
who  beholds  another  in  disgrace. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  you  would,"  answered  his 
mother ;  "  in  fact,  I  dare  say  you  did  do  it, 
just  now,  and  not  Rodney  at  all.  Where  is 
Rodney? " 

"  In  the  dining  tent,"  replied  Bevis,  with  un 
mistakable  relish.  "  I  guess  Papa  '11  give  him 
a  norful  wippin'." 


246 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


"  You  nasty  little  vindictive  thing !  "  Mrs. 
Sparhavvk  exclaimed.  "  Go  at  once  and  tell 
Papa  that  I  will  not  have  Rodney  punished.  It 
will  ruin  his  disposition.  Hurry,  or  I  will  tell 
him  to  give  you  a  good  beating." 

Thus  spurred  on,  Bevis  flew  away,  losing  off 
his  little  red  fez  and  dropping  a  cherished  lapful 
of  stones.  His  place  was  taken  at  once  by  Mr. 
Jack  Hamlin. 

"  To  Starvation  Camp  —  with  the  compliments 
of  the  archer,"  he  said,  and  tossed  down  upon 
the  wet  grass  half  a  dozen  well-grown  fowls. 

They  were  plainly  domestic,  were  still  in  their 
feathers,  and  each  one  was  pierced  through  the 
neck  with  mathematical  precision  by  a  Highfield 
arrow  of  the  very  best  sort. 

"  Where  did  they  come  from?  "  cried  a  chorus 
of  voices. 

"  They  came  from  the  farm,"  replied  Mr. 
Hamlin,  boldly.  "  There  is  no  game  anywhere 
else.  It  is  all  right.  I  did  n't  steal  them." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


247 


"  Oh,  of  course  not,"  said  Mr.  Winthrop ; 
"  but,"  he  added  feebly,  "  the  rule  of  our  camp, 
you  know,  did  —  you  shoot  them?  " 

"  Of  course  he  did,"  Mr.  Dudley  put  in 
sharply;  "can't  you  see  the  arrows?" 

Involuntarily  every  person  about  the  fire  ex 
changed  sneaking  glances  with  every  other. 
Guilt  was  written  plainly  upon  every  counte 
nance.  A  painful  silence  fell  upon  us.  It  was 
broken  by  Rodney  Sparhawk,  who  appeared 
cheerful  and  unharmed  from  his  encounter  with 
his  father. 

"  I  would  like  all  the  drumsticks,  if  you 
please;  and  Bevis  can  have  the  necks,"  he  re 
marked  generously. 

"Is  he  not  a  nasty  little  pig?"  cried  Mrs. 
Sparhawk ;  "  but  do  we  not  all  feel  exactly  like 
him?  " 

"  I  would  propose,"  said  Mrs.  Winthrop,  "  a 
luncheon  of  coffee  and  bread  and  cheese,  and 
then  a  nice  hot  dinner  at  four  or  five  o'clock." 


248 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


This  being  unanimously  agreed  upon,  some 
plates  of  wilted  hardbread  and  a  box  of  mouldy 
cheese  were  produced.  These  Mr.  Winthrop 
persisted  in  calling  "  the  relics,"  and  indeed  the 
sight  of  them  has  become  tolerably  familiar. 
However,  by  the  aid  of  hot  coffee,  we  did  our 
duty,  and  declared  that  we  had  enjoyed  our 
luncheon.  Who  would  not  be  amiable  with 
those  blissful  chickens  in  view? 

"  I  would  n't  be  ungallant  for  the  world," 
remarked  Theodore,  mildly;  "but  perhaps  you 
may  have  heard  what  class  of  people  don't  know 
enough  to  go  in  when  it  rains." 

"  Why,  so  it  is  raining,  really !  "  cried  every 
body. 

The  mist  had  thickened  to  a  steady  drizzle. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  dining  tent  and  play 
games,"  proposed  Arthur  Winthrop.  "  I  know 
a  very  amusing  thing,  very  laughable.  We  used 
to  do  it  at  church  sociables." 

"  It  must  be  highly  amusing,  then,"  grumbled 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


249 


Ted ;  but  we  all  rose  and  bore  wraps  and  books 
into  the  tent. 

"  Now,"  began  Arthur,  cheerfully  beaming 
upon  us  through  his  blinking  glasses,  "  this  is  a 
game  of  sneezing,  you  know.  We  will  begin  at 
the  end  of  the  row.  You,  Fred,  must  say  '  hish,' 
Lucretia  must  say  '  hash,'  and  Betty  must  say 
'  hosh.'  Miss  Alexander  must  say  '  hish,'  and 
so  on  all  around.  I  '11  drop  my  handkerchief, 
and  then  you  must  all  speak  together." 

"  Hosh !  "  said  Mr.  Dudley,  loudly  and 
prematurely. 

"  I  had  not  dropped  the  handkerchief,"  said 
Arthur,  looking  mildly  reproachful.  "  Now,  be 
ready,  everybody." 

The  handkerchief  dropped,  and  a  chorus  of 
hishes  and  hoshes  filled  the  air.  Silence  fol 
lowed,  during  which  we  all  gazed  vaguely  at 
each  other. 

"What  do  we  do  next?"  asked  Mr.  Hamlin, 
briskly. 


250  A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 

"You  don't  do  anything  next,"  replied  Arthur, 
"  that 's  it;  that 's  the  game." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  blandly. 

"  Don't  you  see?  "  poor  Arthur  urged,  becom 
ing  rather  pink  in  the  face;  "it  represents  a 
gigantic  sneeze." 

"  Very  amusing,  I  'm  sure,"  ventured  Miss 
Alexander,  smiling. 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  and  take  a  siesta,"  said  Mrs. 
Sparhawk,  cruelly.  "  Rodney,  you  and  Bevis 
may  come,  too." 

Mrs.  Sparhawk's  example  was  followed  by 
the  older  ladies  and  Emily  Dudley.  The  rest 
of  us  remained  to  play  a  stupid  game  called 
"  Doctrines,"  which  was  also  under  the  leader 
ship  of  ArthurWinthrop  ;  indeed,  Arthur  chiefly 
excelled  in  games.  Finally  even  our  patience 
was  exhausted.  We  withdrew,  leaving  the  gen 
tlemen  to  their  own  devices.  It  was  now  raining 
steadily,  and  in  our  big  tent  we  found  Mrs.  Spar- 
hawk  reading  a  German  novel.  Pretty  Bevis 


A    WOODLAND    IVOOIXG. 


251 


was  asleep  in  a  hammock,  while  Rodney  on  the 
floor  was  peacefully  cutting  dogs  and  horses 
out  of  his  mother's  prayer-book.  Emily  Dudley 
sat  huddled  up  on  her  little  bed  with  her  water 
proof  about  her.  She  was  trying  to  read,  but 
looked  out  of  temper  and  thoroughly  disgusted 
with  life.  As  we  came  in  she  shut  her  book 
with  a  clap. 

"  I  am  tired  of  it,"  she  said  vehemently.  "  I 
am  tired  of  sleeping  on  damp  straw,  with  a 
grasshopper  down  my  neck  and  a  spider  in 
my  ear.  I  'm  tired  of  pretending  that  my  feet 
are  not  wet  and  my  face  is  not  burnt  to  a  blister. 
I  am  sick  of  eating  bugs  and  drinking  caterpil 
lars.  I  hate  the  very  sight  of  fish,  and  I  never 
want  to  see  another  egg  as  long  as  I  live.  I 
won't  pretend  any  longer.  I  want  to  go  home, 
and  I  want  to  go  now.  There  !  " 

We  could  not  have  been  more  taken  off  our 
feet  if  old  Sippican  had  spoken.  It  was  so  un 
expected  an  outburst  to  come  from  sensible, 


252 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


matter-of-fact  Emily  Dudley,  that  we  simply 
stood  in  a  group  and  stared  at  her. 

"  Where  is  your  mother?  "  weakly  asked 
Josephine  at  length. 

"  Gone  to  help  Mrs.  Winthrop  with  the  chick 
ens,"  replied  Emily,  stonily;  "  but  you  need  not 
call  her.  I  am  not  sick.  I  am  only  tired  of 
starving  in  this  nasty  camp." 

"  Your  sentiments  do  you  credit,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Sparhawk.  "  You  feel  exactly  as  we  all 
do,  only  nobody  else  has  the  courage  to  speak. 
I  admire  you." 

"  Cheer  up,  Emmy,"  said  Lucretia,  "  I  have 
just  had  a  piece  of  news.  We  are  all  invited  to 
a  dance  in  a  new  barn,  at  the  Bascoms',  beyond 
the  mountain.  Won't  that  be  fine  for  Thursday 
night?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  Wednesday,"  said  Miss 
Alexander. 

"  Why,  how  could  you  know  anything  about 
it?"  asked  Lucretia,  with  astonished  blue  eyes. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


253 


"  Bobby  this  minute  brought  down  the   invita 
tion  from  the  farm-house." 

"  I  meant  that  I  wished  it  were  Wednesday 
night,"  corrected  Miss  Alexander,  flushing 
oddly. 


254  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


XX. 

WHAT  BOB    SAYS. 

BETTY  need  n't  brag  so.  She  puts  on  great 
airs  that  she  has  written  more  than  I  have,  and 
all  that;  but  she  didn't  have  to  spend  all  her 
time  fishing  and  getting  berries,  as  Fred  and  I 
have.  Beside,  Betty  need  n't  feel  so  everlasting 
big  for  her  writing,  for  she  has  n't  told  every 
thing  just  as  it  happened.  Hamlin  gave  me  a 
first-class  jointed  fishing-rod,  and  Fred  said  he 
only  did  it  because  he  was  spooney  about  Betty. 
I  never  thought  anybody  could  get  spooney  over 
her,  and  I  don't  more  than  half  believe  it  now; 
but,  all  the  same,  she  is  n't  honest  Injun  when 
she  writes,  for  she  leaves  out  about  Mr.  Hamlin, 
—  the  lilies  he  brought  her,  and  the  rows  in  the 
punt,  and  candy  from  New  York  her  birthday 
She  does  n't  tell  everything. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


255 


\Ve  've  had  one  square  meal ;  brown  fricassee 
of  chicken,  and  baked  potatoes,  green  corn, 
shelled  beans  and  hot  biscuit,  apple-pie  and 
cheese  and  coffee,  —  the  first  meat  we 've  seen 
for  weeks,  and  perhaps  we  were  n't  hungry, 
though  !  Betty  says  not  to  tell  what  we  have 
to  eat;  says  it's  vulgar;  but  I  took  notice  she 
was  glad  enough  to  eat  her  share  of  the  chicken. 

I  took  a  note  round  the  mountain  to  the 
bicycle  fellow  from  Miss  Alexander.  She  cried 
and  said  I  was  her  only  friend.  It  was  out  be 
hind  the  dining  tent.  I  felt  like  a  fool,  but  I 
took  the  note.  Something  is  queer  about  it  all. 
\Ve  are  going  to  a  barn  dance.  She  makes  a 
fellow  do  just  as  she  wants  him  to. 


256 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING, 


XXI. 

WHAT   BETTY   SAYS. 

"  I  NEVER  can  get  in,"  sighed  Josephine ; 
"  never  in  the  world." 

"  Oh,"  encouraged  Lucretia,  "  yes,  you  can. 
It  is  not  high  at  all,  and  the  straw  is  lovely." 

We  were  all  piling,  with  much  fun  and 
laughter,  into  the  Farrars'  big  hay-rack.  Mrs. 
Farrar,  a  meek  and  depressed-looking  woman, 
was  already  seated,  while  her  husband  stood 
ready  to  drive  the  stout,  bony  gray  horses. 

"  Come,"  urged  Fred,  bluntly,  "  hurry  up,  Jo. 
We  have  n't  too  much  time,  and  barn  dances 
don't  wait  for  anybody.  Here,  I  '11  boost  you." 

"  Go  away,  Fred,"  said  Josephine,  sharply ; 
but  she  took  Arthur  Winthrop's  hand,  and,  with 
some  lady-like  small  shrieks,  at  length  was  in 
and  seated. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


257 


Rodney  and  Bcvis  sat  on  either  side  of  me. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  'm  very  still?  "  the  former 
askecl,  before  we  were  fairly  started. 

"  Why,  yes,  Rodney,"  I  assented. 

"  I  Ve  got  to  be  still  for  a  whole  hour,"  he 
answered  sadly.  "  Then  Mr.  Hamlin  will  give 
me  a  silver  dollar.  Me  said  he  would." 

"  I  '11  be  still  for  five  hundred  dollars,"  put  in 
Bevis,  promptly,  rising  heavily  over  Rodney's 
price. 

"  Annie  Alexander,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Spar- 
hawk,  "  I  asked  you  to  wear  your  white  wool 
gown,  and  there  you  are,  as  prim  as  a  nun,  in 
that  dark-gray." 

"  I  thought  this  was  more  suitable,"  answered 
Miss  Alexander,  pleasantly,  as  she  drew  on  her 
long,  gray  Swedish  gloves. 

She  rose  presently  and  came  over  to  me,  dis 
placing   Bevis,   who    openly   objected.     It   was 
already  quite  dusky,  so  that  we  could  scarcely 
see  from  end  to  end  of  the  cart. 
17 


258 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  Miss  Betty,"  said  Miss  Alexander,  softly, 
"  we  are  going  to  break  camp  to-morrow,  you 
know,  and  I  shall  be  going  away.  You  have  n't 
liked  me  very  well,  but  I  took  a  fancy  to  you 
the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you.  I  have  few 
friends,  and  my  life  is  not  very  happy.  You 
have  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  think  you  did  not 
like  the  secrecy  of  that  note;  but,  indeed,  it 
was  necessary.  I  am  so  persecuted  and  so  un 
happy.  I  do  not  want  you  to  quite  forget  me, 
child.  You  must  wear  this.  I  brought  it  home 
from  Rome.  Please  do  not  say  no ;  I  am  so 
miserable,  so  frightened." 

She  rose,  and  hastily  returned  to  her  seat  by 
the  side  of  Mr.  Hamlin.  A  moment  later  I 
heard  her  teaching  him  a  Spanish  song,  and 
laughing  quite  merrily  over  his  bad  pronuncia 
tion.  She  had  put  a  ring  on  the  third  finger  of 
my  hand.  I  could  just  see  it  in  the  dusk,  and 
it  felt  rough  with  engraving.  I  did  not  wish  to 
make  a  scene  in  the  hay-cart,  but  I  promised 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


259 


myself  that  I  would  give  it  back  as  soon  as  we 
reached  the  barn.  I  did  not  want  any  of  her 
rings  or  her  mysteries. 

It  was  a  delicious  evening,  dry  and  warm. 
The  air  was  full  of  wild  scents  of  elder  and  rank 
brakes  and  sweet-fern.  Later  the  moon  would 
come,  but  then  it  was  dusk,  which  deepened  to 
midnight  whenever  we  passed  through  a  wood. 
Along  the  sides  of  the  road  the  fireflies  were 
holding  a  glittering  dance  on  their  own  account. 

"  Cuddle  me  up,"  said  Bevis,  tumbling  sud 
denly  into  my  lap ;  "  I  'm  'fraid  o'  the  bears." 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  holler  awful  loud  when  I  get 
me  silver  dollar,"  presently  confided  Rodney, 
who  really  had  been  surprisingly  well-behaved 
for  him. 

"  Oh,  Rodney,"  I  said  entreatingly. 

"And  squeal,"  said  Rodney,  with  the  joy  of 
coming  triumph  in  his  voice,  "  and  stamp  and 
run  all  wound  and  wound,  and  do  a  norful  lot  of 
kinds  of  things;  you  wait  and  see." 


26o  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

"  Me,  too,"  said  Bevis ;  "  I  '11  do  some  norful 
things,  too." 

I  did  not  doubt  the  children's  ability,  but  I 
was  prevented  from  delivering  them  a  lecture 
by  our  arrival  at  the  farm.  The  great  new  barn 
towered  white  in  the  dusk,  and  the  farmer  came 
out  to  meet  us. 

"  How  de  do?  How  de  do?  "  he  said  cordially. 
"  Glad  to  see  yer.  We  haint  goin'  to  make  no 
strangers  of  ye.  Come  right  in,  all  on  ye,  and 
make  yourselves  to  home." 

Within  the  barn  a  fiddle  was  twanging,  played 
by  a  weazened  old  man  sitting  on  a  barrel. 
There  were  neither  cattle  nor  hay.  The  barn 
was  quite  new,  and  smelled  of  sweet  pine-wood. 
There  were  candles  everywhere  in  bottles,  and 
upon  boards  pierced  with  rows  of  holes.  The 
two  great  doors  stood  open  to  the  wide,  cool 
night.  From  the  back  door  we  saw  the  orchard, 
and  behind  the  dark,  rustling  trees  we  saw  the 
great  red  moon  just  rising. 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  26 1 

As  we  went  in,  a  dozen  pairs  of  young  people 
were  dancing  a  "  French  Four."  Some  farmers' 
wives  sat  on  rude  benches  against  the  wall,  and 
a  group  of  men  stood  talking  by  the  door.  Fred 
came  at  once  to  ask  me  to  dance,  and  we  were 
soon  merrily  flying  "  down  the  centre." 

Adaline  Butterfield,  smiling  and  awkward, 
was  next  me  in  the  long  line.  She  told 
me  regretfully  that  "  the  boarder "  had  gone 
back  to  the  Gorge,  but  had  "  given  mother 
an  elegant  shawl,"  and  herself  "  a  pair  of  ear 
rings." 

The  "  French  Four  "  was  followed  by  a  "  Bos 
ton  Fancy,"  and  that  by  a  "  Virginia  Reel."  We 
became  hilarious,  and  sometimes  went  not  only 
"  down  the  centre"  of  the  barn,  but  rushed  pell- 
mell  into  the  dewy  field  outside. 

Lucretia  and  Josephine  considered  such  dan 
cing  rude,  but  I  am  hoyden  enough  to  enjoy  a 
dance  that  has  some  life  in  it.  I  danced  chiefly 
with  Bobby  and  Fred,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  stood 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


leaning  against  the  wall  looking  cross.  Miss 
Alexander  danced,  and  in  spite  of  her  dull  gray 
gown  was  the  most  brilliant  woman  in  the  room. 
Her  cheeks  were  as  pink  as  a  sea-shell,  and  her 
eyes  had  a  lovely  starry  look. 

Presently  I  found  myself  standing  by  the 
door,  after  a  wild  polka  with  Bob.  Mr.  Hamlin 
came  across  and  joined  me. 

"What  are  you  thinking?  "  I  asked. 

"  Of  what  happens  to  the  best-laid  plans,"  he 
answered. 

"  Have  your  plans  gone  agley?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  know  they  had?  " 

"Why,  no,"  I  said  stupidly  ;  "  how  did  they?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  going  home,"  he"  said,  "  if  you 
do  not  have  the  entire  Sparhawk  family  in  your 
lap.  I  may  be  able  to  sit  next  you." 

"  You  can  talk  if  you  do  not  sit  next  me,"  I 
said  cheerfully.  "  I  'm  sure  I  talked  to  Bobby 
all  the  way  over,  and  he  sat  quite  at  the  other 
end  of  the  cart." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


263 


"  I  heard  you,"  he  said  dryly.  "  I  don't  care 
to  shout." 

Just  at  this  moment  up  came  Rodney  Spar- 
hawk  begging  me  to  dance  with  him. 

"  Why,  Rodney,"  said  his  mother,  "  you  do 
not  know  how  to  dance.  What  are  you  think 
ing  of?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  know  how,"  insisted  Rodney, 
stoutly.  "  I  know  '  swing  pardners  '  and  '  down 
the  centre.'  " 

"  Rodney,  this  is  all  nonsense,"  declared  Mrs. 
Sparhawk,  decidedly.  "  Once  for  all,  I  forbid 
your  trying  to  dance.  Do  you  understand?" 

"  If  you  don't  let  me,"  said  Rodney,  calmly, 
"  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  holler  and  roar  and  run  be 
tween  the  dancing  people,  and  knock  'em  all 
down." 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  adjusted  her  eyeglasses  and 
gazed  a  moment  at  her  son. 

"  Very  well,  you  disagreeable  child,"  she  said, 
"  go  along  then  and  make  a  nasty  little  guy  of 


264  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

yourself,  and  set  everybody  laughing  at  you,  if 
you  want  to.  I  only  hope  you  may  not  kill 
Miss  Betty." 

Indeed,  Rodney  did  make  a  guy,  not  only  of 
himself  but  of  me ;  for  he  knew  none  of  the 
changes,  and  had  to  "be  pushed  and  pulled  about 
in  a  shameful  manner.  He  enjoyed  himself 
immensely,  however,  and  went  down  the  centre 
riotously,  usually  tumbling  down  at  the  end  and 
being  ignominiously  picked  up  and  set  on  end 
again  by  the  nearest  person.  I  was  still  alive 
when  the  dance  ended,  but  not  much  more. 

"  I  have  been  observing  the  various  elegant 
ways  of  inviting  a  lady  to  dance,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
lin,  strolling  up  to  me  as  I  sat  quite  exhausted 
on  the  bench  by  the  door. 

"  And  how  do  they  do  it?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Sparhawk,  joining  us.  "  Miss  Betty,  please 
have  my  fan.  I  am  sure  you  are  in  a  fainting 
condition." 

"  One  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  "  crooks 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


265 


his  elbow  and  offers  his  arm  without  a  word ; 
another  —  that  white-haired  one  with  the  green 
cravat  —  says,  'Dance  longer  me?'  and  a  third 
says,  '  Darse  to  dance  this  dance  with  me?'  I 
have  watched  the  last  gentleman  through  a  Vir 
ginia  reel,  and  I  admit  that  it  does  require  a 
certain  amount  of  courage  to  be  his  partner." 

"  How  unique  !  "  said  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  only 
faintly  amused.  "  Have  you  seen  Miss  Alex 
ander  lately?  I  am  forgetting  that  I  am  her 
chaperone." 

"  She  is  by  the  other  door  with  Ted,"  he 
replied  indifferently. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  my  crimps,  Betty, 
can  you  sec?"  asked  Josephine,  who  had  been 
trying  to  polka  with  Arthur  Winthrop. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  pair  of  eyeglasses 
tangled  in  your  hair,"  said  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  non 
chalantly,  as  if  the  thing  were  of  common 
occurrence. 

"How  detestable!"  said   Josephine,  without 


266  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

smiling.  "They  are  Arthur  Winthrop's.  He  is 
blind  as  a  bat  without  them,  and  he  is  too  ab 
surdly  polite  to  ask  me  for  them.  How  silly 
he  is !  " 

After  much  dancing  there  was  a  supper  in 
the  big  farm  kitchen,  and  not  long  after,  our 
hay-rack  was  announced  as  ready  for  the  home 
ward  trip. 

"Pile  in,"  shouted  Bobby,  jovially;  "I've 
shaken  up  the  cushions,  and  the  chariot  is  ready. 
They  Ve  given  us  heaps  of  apples." 

"Look  out  for  worms,  though,"  suggested 
Fred,  unpleasantly;  "eating  early  apples  in  the 
dark  is  n't  what  it 's  cracked  up  to  be." 

There  was  some  attempt  at  singing  as  we 
started  away,  but  presently  we  grew  sleepy  and 
silent.  Bevis  came  to  me  and  went  to  sleep  in 
my  arms.  Rodney  insisted  on  driving. 

"  Rodney  Sparhawk,"  cried  his  mother,  "  if 
you  run  over  my  feet  once  more  I  '11  assassinate 
you.  Come  away  from  the  reins  at  once,  and 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


267 


stop  troubling  Mr.  Farrar.  Do  you  hear  me? 
Rodney  Sparhawk,  why  don't  you  answer  me?  " 

"  I  'm  not  listening  to  you  at  all,  Mamma," 
replied  Rodney,  serenely;  "  I  am  looking  at  the 
moon." 

Mrs.  Sparhawk  sighed  and  composed  herself 
for  a  nap. 

We  came  after  a  time  to  the  Butterfield  farm, 
where  we  had  taken  refuge  from  the  storm. 
Late  as  it  was,  the  house  door  stood  open,  and 
the  light  from  within  streaming  out  into  the 
yard  showed  a  group  standing  about  a  chaise, 
from  which  the  horse  had  been  taken. 

"  Somebody  must  be  sick,"  said  Mrs.  Dudley. 
"  Let  us  stop." 

"  They  must  be  in  some  trouble,"  Mrs.  Win- 
throp  agreed.  "  Some  of  you  young  and  active 
ones  had  better  see  if  we  can  be  of  any  help." 

We  found  the  entire  Butterfield  family  in  the 
yard,  except  Adaline,  who  was  to  pass  the  night 
at  the  farm  where  the  dance  \vas  given.  Even 


268  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

the  shy  Elnathan  had  come  forth,  owl-like,  under 
cover  of  the  night.  In  the  shadow  of  the  chaise- 
top  we  could  see  by  the  moonlight  a  small  old 
woman  in  a  decent  black  bonnet  and  shawl. 
She  was  sitting  stiffly  upright,  with  folded  hands 
and  a  forbidding  expression  of  countenance. 

"  It  is  his  mother,"  explained  Mrs.  Butterfield, 
in  a  low  tone.  "  She  stops  about  to  her  differ 
ent  children's,  a  spell  here  an'  a  spell  there. 
She  haint  raly  well-wittcd  by  times ;  not  that 
she  's  crazy,  but  she  's  notionate,  an',  —  wal, 
she 's  sort  o'  cur'us,  mother  is.  She  gits  an 
idea  in  her  head,  an'  then  she  sorter  can't  seem 
to  git  red  of  it." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her  now?"  inquired 
Bobby. 

"  Wal,  ye  see  she  's  come  over  to  stop  a  spell 
along  of  us.  Elnathan  went  over  to  his  Aunt 
Emma  Jane's  ternoon  to  fetch  her.  They  got 
here  jest  at  tea-time,  an'  Mother,  she  's  took  a 
notion  not  to  stir  from  that  shay.  Elnathan, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


269 


he  's  ontacklcd,  an'  we  Ve  all  ben  a  coaxin'  of 
her  in  ever  sence  six  o'clock,  an'  there  that 
contr'y  old  lady  has  sot  an'  sot,  as  cf  she  'd 
took  root." 

"  Maria,"  said  the  old  woman,  suddenly  in 
terrupting,  "  go  into  the  house.  You  make  me 
fidgety." 

"  But,  Mother,"  urged  Mrs.  Butterfield,  "  the 
dew  is  rale  heavy,  an'  it's  a  cool  night.  You  '11 
have  rheumatics  to-morrow,  sure  as  preachin'." 

"  If  I  do,  Maria,"  returned  the  old  woman, 
with  dignity,  "  it  will  be  my  own  lookout, 
Maria." 

"  But,  Granny,  you  are  keepin'  us  out-doors 
all  night,"  urged  Elnathan. 

"  I  am  not  awcer,"  said  the  grandmother,  with 
rigid  politeness,  "  that  I  have  asked  any  of  you 
to  stop  out  o'  door.  If  I  hev,  will  somebody 
please  to  tell  me?" 

"  Come,  Mother,  come,"  said  poor  Mrs.  But 
terfield,  "it's  nigh  onto  midnight,  an'  a  nice 


270 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


bed  all  made  an'  waitin'  for  ye  in  the  parlor 
bedroom." 

"  I  'm  puffeckly  comfortable  where  I  be,  Ma 
ria,  an'  I  don't  know  why  I  should  n't  stay  here." 

"  Mother  made  sweet  cake  an'  blueberry  pie 
a  purpose  for  ye,"  put  in  one  of  the  children, 
"  an'  she  's  cut  into  a  new  sage-cheese,  an'  kep' 
the  tea  on  all  this  time." 

"  If  I  have  lived,"  said  the  old  lady,  frigidly, 
"  to  have  the  few  things  that  my  own  folks  do 
for  me  throwed  up  in  my  face,  I  may  ez  wal  go 
to  the  Poor  Farm  an'  done  with  it.  I  never 
thought  to  see  myself  looked  on  as  a  burden 
to  my  own  son's  house ;  that  I  will  raise  my 
Ebenezer  to  say." 

"  Nobuddy  ever  thought  of  castin'  things  up 
at  you.  Now,  Mother,  you  know  better  than 
that,"  said  her  daughter-in-law.  "  Dear  sakes, 
if  he  had  only  got  home,  he  could  manage  her; 
but  he  won't  come  till  to-morrow.  I  declare,  I 
don't  know  which  way  to  turn." 


A    WOODLAND   WOOING. 


271 


"  You  never  did,  Maria,"  the  old  lady  com 
mented  from  her  chaise.  "  You  was  always  un- 
faculized  and  hen-headed,  an'  so  I  told  Simeon 
when  he  first  began  to  keep  company  with  ye. 
He  was  headstrong,  an'  hev  his  own  way  he 
would,  but  he  '11  come  to  repent  on  it,  ef  he 
has  n't  already." 

"  Oh,  Granny,"  cried  one  of  the  children,  run 
ning  from  the  house,  "  there 's  our  Mirandy, 
she 's  gone  and  opened  your  band-box,  and 
she  's  tried  on  your  best  cap,  and  is  pulling  out 
all  your  things,  and  I  can't  make  her  stop 
nohow." 

"  Land  sakes,"  said  the  old  lady,  excitedly, 
"  ef  that  child  aint  exactly  like  you,  Maria, 
always  interferin'  an'  meddlin'.  My  best  cap  ! 
All  that  purple  taste  !  Elnathan,  help  me  outen 
this  shay,  an'  I  '11  soon  put  a  bee  in  her  bunnit." 

With  this  the  grandmother  actually  descended, 
and  hurried  into  the  house  with  her  grandson. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield,  hurriedly ; 


2/2 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


"  you  '11  excuse  me  goin'  right  in,  but  she  's  so 
pudgicky  there  's  no  tellin'  what  new  notion  she 
may  take.  If  I  can  only  get  the  door  locked, 
we  may  coax  her  to  bed.  I  'm  'bleeged  to  ye 
for  stoppin',  I  'm  sure.  Good-night." 

"  When  a  woman  will,"  laughed  Colonel  Spar- 
hawk  as  we  once  more  jolted  along. 

"  Femina  semper  mutabile"  added  Arthur 
Winthrop. 

"  Don't  be  so  superior,"  begged  Mrs.  Spar- 
hawk.  "  Woman's  power  to  change  her  mind 
is  one  of  her  most  charming  qualities.  I  sup 
pose  if  a  man  had  announced  his  intention  of 
spending  the  night  in  a  cart,  he  'd  have  done  it, 
if  he  'd  been  the  death  of  his  entire  family." 

We  reached  the  camp  just  after  midnight,  a 
sleepy  and  demoralized  crew.  After  we  reached 
our  tent  somebody  asked  for  Miss  Alexander. 

"  She  was  not  in  the  cart,"  said  Lucretia,  with 
awful  calmness ;  "  we  have  gone  and  left  her 
behind." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


273 


Mrs.  Sparhawk,  who  was  tucking  Bevis  into 
bed,  made  a  sudden  snatch  at  something  on 
her  pillow. 

It  was  a  letter. 

"  She  has  gone  !  "  she  cried  wildly,  "  gone  ! 
Where  is  the  Colonel?  That  nasty,  ungrateful, 
theatrical  little  cat  has  eloped  !  " 


18 


274  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


XXII. 

WHAT  BETTY   SAYS. 

"SHE  is  a  nasty,  ungrateful,  romantic  little 
idiot !  "  declared  Mrs.  Sparhawk  for  the  fortieth 
time  since  Miss  Alexander's  surprising  escapade 
had  been  discovered  the  night  before.  "  I 
thought  she  acted  odd  and  dumpy  and  unlike 
herself,  and  all  the  time  it  seems  that  she  was 
mooning  over  that  lackadaisical  loon  of  a  George 
Dexter.  Well,  I  wash  my  hands  of  her." 

"  My  dearest,"  said  the  Colonel,  who  made 
one  of  the  small  group  by  the  camp-fire  who 
listened  to  this  tirade,  —  "  my  dearest,  pardon 
me ;  but,  having  taken  a  young  lady  from  her 
parents'  protection  and  assumed  the  care  of  her 
ourselves,  we  cannot,  I  think,  throw  off  the 
responsibility  so  lightly.  I  feel  it  my  duty 
to  get  a  horse  and  go  to  the  Gorge  at  once, 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


275 


and  I  think,  love,  that  you  ought  to  accompany 
me." 

"  Indeed,  limkin,  I  shall  do  no  such  thing. 
I  never  want  to  set  eyes  upon  her  deceitful  face 
again.  To  think  how  she  apparently  fell  in  with 
all  my  plans,  and  all  the  time  she  was  meeting 
this  idiot  on  his  eternal  bicycle.  I  wonder  if 
they  eloped  on  the  bicycle,  by  the  bye?" 

"  What  docs  her  letter  say  ?  "  asked  the 
Colonel.  "  Just  read  it  to  me  once  more,  my  own." 

"  Oh,"  returned  Mrs.  Sparhawk,  airily,  "  I 
don't  know  where  her  nasty  letter  is,  I  'm  sure. 
I  dare  say  the  children  have  it.  She  '  hoped  I 
would  try  to  forgive  her,'  and  '  indeed  she  was 
very  unhappy,'  and  she  '  could  not  bear  to  de 
ceive  me  and  the  dear  Colonel,  but  there  was 
no  other  way ;  '  and  she  and  Mr.  Dexter  had  met 
and  arranged  everything,  and  were  to  be  mar 
ried  at  the  house  of  the  minister  last  evening. 
Oh,  I  have  no  patience  with  the  little  hussy; 
married  at  a  country  parson's  house,  when  she 


276  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

might  have  had  the  loveliest  wedding  ever  seen 
in  Baltimore !  " 

"But  if  her  parents  disapproved?"  began 
Lucretia,  mildly. 

"  Disapproved  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sparhawk ;  "  why, 
child,  they  've  been  angling  for  George  Dexter 
ever  since  Annie  was  in  pinafores." 

"  But  I  think  she  was  very  unhappy  at  home," 
ventured  Lucretia. 

"  Bosh  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sparhawk ;  "  how 
that  girl  has  imposed  on  you!  Her  parents 
idolize  her.  She  has  n't  had  a  wish  ungratified 
since  she  was  born." 

"  The  long  and  short  of  the  matter,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "  is  that  she  is  a  weak,  sentimental, 
sensational  young  woman,  who  longs  to  emulate 
the  heroines  of  her  favorite  romances ;  so  she 
posed  for  a  persecuted  and  unhappy  maiden, 
and  really  almost  cheated  herself  into  the  belief 
that  she  was  one.  Now,  my  dear,  I  'm  off  to 
the  Gorge  to  see  her  if  I  can." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


277 


"  Don't  bring  her  back,"  cried  his  wife ;  "  I 
will  positively  not  see  her.  Think,"  she  added, 
with  an  air  of  severe  virtue,  "  of  what  an  example 
to  set  the  children  !  " 

"  Lucretia,"  I  asked,  "  did  she  confide  in  you, 
and  tell  you  that  she  was  very  miserable,  and 
that  her  heart  would  break  if  she  did  not  speak 
to  somebody?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  admitted  Lucretia,  with  a  some 
what  injured  air;  "  how  did  you  know,  Betty?  " 

"  Because  she  said  the  same  to  me,  and  I 
carried  a  note  from  him,  the  circus  day." 

"  She  confided  in  me,  too,"  said  Emily  Dud 
ley,  grimly. 

"  That  is  why  she  persisted  in  wearing  a  trav 
elling  dress  last  night,"  broke  forth  Mrs.  Spar- 
hawk,  once  more ;  "  and  to  think  of  the  way  I 
put  myself  out  for  the  girl.  I  'in  sure  that  I 
wrote  and  invited  her  here  the  very  day  that 
I  found  out  that  Mr.  Hamlin  was  old  Judge 
Hamlin's  nephew.  I  Ve  been  positively  indecent 


278  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

in  the  bold-faced  way  I  Ve  made  opportunities 
for  her.  The  Colonel  has  scolded  me  for  it  un 
mercifully.  Oh,  you  need  not  open  your  lovely 
gray  eyes  so  wide,  Miss  Betty ;  I  can  see  through 
a  millstone ;  I  know  where  he  has  always  been, 
when  I  did  n't  positively  send  him  to  Annie. 
Well,  you  may  have  him  now,  child.  I  shall  not 
play  the  part  of  meddlesome  Matty  any  longer." 

As  she  spoke  she  tossed  aside  some  bits  of 
an  envelope  she  had  been  destroying,  and  rising, 
moved  slowly  away,  sweeping  off  with  her  long 
gown  Emily's  embroidered  crewels  which  lay  in 
a  tiny  basket  on  the  grass.  For  a  moment 
nobody  spoke,  but  I  felt  all  eyes  upon  my  face. 
My  cheeks  glowed  like  hot  coals,  and  my  heart 
seemed  to  stop  beating. 

"Meddlesome  Matty,  I  should  say!"  spoke 
out  Josephine,  spitefully;  "what  on  earth  does 
the  woman  mean?  Her  glasses  must  have  magic 
in  them,  for  she  certainly  sees  more  than  the 
rest  of  us." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


279 


"  I  don't  know  that  she  does,"  said  Emmy 
Dudley,  coolly;  "there  are  none  so  blind  as 
those —  You  know  the  rest." 

"You  needn't  trouble  to  explain,"  said  Jo 
sephine,  frigidly,  rising  and  stalking  off  with  her 
head  in  the  air. 

"  I  don't  see  what 's  the  trouble  with  Jo 
sephine,"  said  Emmy,  threading  her  needle; 
"  I  'm  sure  it  is  none  of  her  funeral." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  kindly  reached  over  and  gave 
my  hand  a  squeeze  under  her  shawl,  but  I  could 
not  thank  her.  I  could  not  speak  at  all.  My 
only  desire  was  to  get  away  from  them  all ;  to 
be  by  myself.  I  could  only  bless  the  fate  which 
had  ordained  that  only  that  little  circle  of 
women  had  been  about  the  fire  when  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  dropped  her  bomb-shell. 

I  rose  and  fled  —  anywhere  to  be  away  from 
them  all.  I  could  not  go  to  the  tent,  for  Mrs. 
Sparhawk  was  there.  I  crossed  the  road  to  the 
meadow.  I  would  have  liked  to  climb  the 


2So  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

mountain  and  keep  on  and  on,  and  never  come 
back  any  more.  I  kept  saying  over  and  over 
to  myself:  "  They  thought  I  liked  him.  They 
all  thought  I  liked  him." 

It  actually  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  should  die  of 
the  horrible  shame  of  it  all.  Suddenly  I  heard 
a  puffing  and  panting  close  behind  me. 

"  Oh,"  said  Rodney's  voice,  "  I  saw  you 
agoing  to  walk,  so  I  knew  you  'd  want  me  to 
come  too." 

"  No,  Rodney,"  I  said,  "  I  am  going  too  far. 
You  must  not  come.  You  '11  be  too  tired." 

"  Then  you  can  carry  me  a  pick-a-back," 
persisted  Rodney,  cheerfully.  "  Besides,  I  'd 
rather  go,  and  I  just  as  lief  as  not." 

I  gave  the  child  my  hand,  not  very  pleasantly, 
and  made  my  hasty  steps  agree  better  with  his. 
After  all,  there  was  no  harm  in  Rodney.  His 
eyes  did  not  pry. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  sumpin',"  he  casually  confided ; 
"  Mr.  Hamlin  is  up  here  somewhere,  he  and  Bob." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING.  28l 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  demanded  fiercely, 
my  cheeks  flushing  more  hotly  than  ever. 

He  would  think,  they  would  think,  I  had 
followed  him. 

"  Come  back  at  once,  Rodney,"  I  said.  "We 
will  not  go  a  step  farther." 

I  turned  and  was  hastening  back,  dragging 
the  reluctant  Rodney  after  me,  when  suddenly 
I  saw  Mr.  Hamlin,  with  his  fishing-rod,  breaking 
his  way  out  of  the  alder  bushes  by  the  brook. 
I  drew  the  child  down  behind  a  friendly  bowlder, 
and  hid  myself. 

"  Don't  you  speak  or  move,  Rodney  Spar- 
hawk,  till  he  has  gone  by,"  I  whispered. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Rodney,  hoarsely;  "I 
want  to  see  his  fishes.  Mamma  told  Papa  he 
was  a  catch.  \Vhat  is  a  catch?" 

"  She  could  not  have  said  that,  Rodney." 

"She  did,"  persisted  the  child;  "she  said, 
'  When  his  uncle  dies  he  will  be  a  great  catch.' 
What  did  she  mean?" 


282  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

A  sudden  light  broke  over  me.  How  stupid 
I  had  been !  Mrs.  Sparhawk's  graciousness  to 
Mr.  Hamlin  had  all  been  after  she  had  learned 
his  relationship  to  the  rich  uncle  in  Baltimore. 
If  she  had  only  heard  that  story  that  I  heard  in 
the  old  graveyard,  she  would  not  have  wanted 
Miss  Alexander  to  marry  him.  She  would  have 
let  him  alone,  and  not  said  horrible  things  to 
me,  and  perhaps  — 

" Ow !  "  said  Rodney ;  "I'm  a-goin'  to  sneeze." 

"  Rodney  Sparhawk,"  I  whispered  fiercely, 
"  don't  you  dare  to  sneeze.  If  you  do  I  '11 
never  play  with  you  again,  nor  tell  you  another 
story  in  all  my  life." 

Mr.  Hamlin  came  nearer,  whistling  "  How 
Can  I  Leave  Thee,"  very  much  off  key.  He 
was  just  opposite  our  bowlder  now,  and,  as 
bad  luck  would  have  it,  he  stopped  whistling. 
Rodney's  small  face  was  a  tangle  of  twists 
and  wrinkles,  as  he  vainly  tried  to  overcome 
his  desire  to  sneeze. 


A    WOODLAATD    WOOING.  283 

"  A  choo  !  "  said  Rodney,  loudly.  "  There, 
Miss  Betty,  I  could  n't  help  it.  I  could  n't, 
truly  now." 

Mr.  Hamlin  stepped  around  the  corner  of  the 
rock. 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  've  taken  cold,  Miss  Betty," 
he  said,  "  but  very  glad  to  see  you.  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  you  away  from  the  camp." 

"  It  was  Rodney  who  sneezed,"  I  said  stiffly ; 
"  nobody  but  Rodney  sneezes  so  loudly  as  that. 
Come,  Rodney,  your  mother  will  want  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  she  won't,"  replied  Rodney.  "  She 
told  me  to  stay  ever  so  far  off  while  she  was 
packing." 

"  You  may  take  my  fishing-rod  and  catch  a 
little  trout.  Miss  Betty  and  I  will  wait  for  you 
here,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  generously. 

"  Indeed  he  cannot,  Mr.  Hamlin,"  I  cried. 
"  Rodney  is  too  little  to  go  to  the  brook  alone. 
Are  you  crazy?  " 

"  Not  now,  but  I  may  be  if  you  won't  listen 


284  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

to  me.  See  here,  Rodney,  I  have  a  secret  to 
tell  Miss  Betty,  and  —  " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  hear  it,"  I  cried,  rising. 
"  I  detest  secrets." 

"  But  you  must  hear  it,"  he  said  suddenly, 
very  white  in  the  face.  "  Rodney,  wait  for  us 
over  by  that  tree." 

"  I  'd  just  as  lief  stay,"  said  Rodney,  obligingly. 
"  I  like  to  hear  secrets,  too." 

"  Rodney,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hamlin,  desper 
ately,  "  if  you  '11  go  and  sit  under  the  apple-tree 
five  minutes,  I  '11  give  you  a  dollar." 

"  Honest?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  Of  course,     I  give  you  my  word." 

"  All  right,"  said  Rodney,  and  reluctantly 
departed. 

I  felt  as  if  my  last  support  had  left  me  as  he 
stumbled  away  through  the  sweet  fern. 

"  I  must  go,"  I  protested  ;  "  some  other  time 
will  do  —  " 

"  No  other  time  will  do,"  he  said.     "  I  am 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


285 


going  home  to-morrow.  Betty,  Mrs.  Sparhawk 
said  that  you  were  going  to  marry  Arthur  Win- 
throp.  Is  it  true?" 

"  I  am  not  going  to  marry  anybody,"  I  re 
turned  hotly.  "  I  hate  all  this  talk  about  marry 
ing,  as  if  everybody  were  crazy,  and  there  were 
nothing  else  worth  thinking  of." 

"Oh,  Betty,"  he  said  eagerly,  —  "oh,  Betty, 
Betty,  don't  you  know  how  I  love  you?  Don't 
you  know  how  I  'vc  loved  you  all  summer, 
always,  ever  since  I  was  born?  Betty,  it  cannot 
be  that  you  won't  come  to  love  me  a  little  —  " 

"  I  came  back,"  broke  in  the  cheerful  voice  of 
Rodney,  "  because  there  's  a  toad  down  there, 
and  I  want  something  to  poke  him  with.  Any 
picked  stick  would  do,  or  your  fish-pole,  Mr. 
Hamlin." 

"  Betty,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  desperately,  "  I 
love  you  utterly,  but  I  hereby  resign  all  hope 
of  telling  you  so  out  of  hearing  of  the  Sparhawk 
children.  It  is  fate.  Plainly,  and  before  this 
witness,  will  you  marry  me,  Betty?" 


286  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

He  had  quite  stopped  smiling,  and  he  held 
both  my  hands  in  spite  of  Rodney.  Under  his 
breath  he  said,  — 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Betty,  give  me  an  answer 
before  we  go  back  to  that  staring  camp." 

"  If  you  marry  him,"  piped  the  ever-ready 
Rodney,  "  then  I  s'pose  he  '11  marry  you,  and 
you  '11  have  rice  thrown  into  your  ears  and 
down  your  neck,  as  my  Aunt  Helen  did.  Is 
she  goin'  to  marry  you,  Mr.  Hamlin?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Rodney,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin ; 
"  ask  her." 

"Are  you  goin'  to,  Miss  Betty?"  asked  the 
tormenter. 

"  I  don't  know,  Rodney,"  I  began  stiffly. 
My  lover's  anxious  eyes  were  on  me,  and  I 
weakly  ended,  "  But  I  think  —  I  am." 

Then  it  was  that  Mr.  Hamlin  —  oh,  dear!  I 
have  promised  to  call  him  Jack,  and  what  will 
Bob  say;  what  will  he  say!  —  proved  equal  to 
the  emergency.  I  may  as  well  tell  it  all,  for  I 
never  could  show  Bobby  this  chapter,  anyway ; 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


but  without  a  word  of  warning  he  caught  Rod 
ney's  Tam-o'-Shanter  by  the  edge  and  pulled  it 
completely  over  the  poor  fellow's  face,  and  then 
he  took  me  in  his  arms  like  a  flash,  and  I  could 
not  help  it  if  he  did  kiss  me  like  a  young 
tornado. 

"  Oh,  stop  !  "  gurgled  Rodney,  as,  half  crying, 
he  extricated  himself  from  his  cap;  "that  is  n't 
any  fair." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Rodney,"  Mr.  Hamlin 
said  with  the  greatest  gravity,  "  but  you  see  I 
got  hold  of  the  edge  of  your  cap  instead  of  my 
own  all  by  mistake." 

"  I  don't  care,"  protested  Rodney,  looking 
abused  ;  "  I  don't  like  mistakes." 

"  Nor  I,  Rodney,"  said  I,  with  an  attempt  at 
propriety. 

"Very  well,"  rejoined  my  shameless  lover, 
without  looking  in  the  least  penitent;  "I'll 
never  do  it  again,  Betty  —  by  mistake." 

I  laughed   a  little.     It  was  all  so  wonderful, 


288  A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 

and  I  was  so  very  happy.  Rodney  joined 
boisterously  in  my  laughter,  without  knowing 
why  he  laughed. 

We  stood  there  in  the  damp  meadow  among 
the  brambles,  with  Rodney  eager  and  watchful 
by  our  side.  Was  ever  a  love-making  more 
prosaic?  Had  it  not  been  for  Mr.  Hamlin's 
eyes  one  could  not  have  guessed  that  it  was  a 
love-making  at  all.  We  stood  there  in  the  foggy 
morning  and  regarded  each  other  half  whimsi 
cally.  The  whole  thing  was  so  funny,  so  lacking 
in  poetry  and  sentiment. 

"  I  cannot  think  what  Bob  will  say,"  I  said  at 
length.  "  I  always  loved  Bob  more  than  all  the 
world ;  and  you  know  we  were  to  keep  house 
in  Mexico." 

"  You  can  do  that  still,"  he  smiled;  "only 
now  Bob  will  be  the  boarder,  and  I  shall  be 
the  householder." 

"  Come,"  urged  Rodney,  "  if  you  Ve  settled 
your  talkin',  do  come  and  let 's  poke  the  toad." 


A    WOODLAND    WOOING. 


289 


"  Our  talking  is  only  begun,"  replied  Mr. 
Ilamlin,  swinging  the  child  to  his  shoulders; 
"  but  we  have  our  lifetime  in  which  to  finish  it. 
I  can  afford  to  be  patient  for  a  little  now ;  and 
after  all,  I  might  not  have  had  a  chance  to 
speak  to  you,  my  Betty,  if  Rodney  had  not 
sneezed." 

And  we  all  went  to  poke  the  toad. 


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